


The Strings that Bind Us Together

by Sunevial



Series: The Black Stars [2]
Category: Discord Murder Party (Podcast)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-09-13 09:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16889781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunevial/pseuds/Sunevial
Summary: Death and murder come naturally to the Followers of the Murder God, though not everything they end up doing ends in death. Follow the tales of the Young Priest coming into the folds of the Murder God's court, the introduction of new and old faces alike, and old stories that have yet to see the light of day.





	1. A Moment’s Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A welcome reception for the newest member of the Murder God's court.

“Are you absolutely sure the Captain didn’t just kill him and dump his body here for us to have a little fun with? I mean, he hasn’t moved since she dropped him off, and that was almost ten hours ago.” Cheerful, the excitement in her voice almost making the scene seem normal. A small slap echoed through his ear drums, one that he felt he should be able to name but could not conjure up through the fog.

“No no no no no, he’s still breathing. l checked a couple of minutes ago and I’m pretty sure he’s not completely dead. Then again, I’m not a doctor. I unalive things not…re-alive things.” Familiar, the voice of the woman with round glasses and chestnut hair he so quickly bought a ticket for. There was a small crack: the settling of…wooden furniture?

“The transformation is nothing to take lightly, or have you forgotten the pain so quickly? Let him rest.” Relaxed, yet powerful, belonging to a man who knew how to command without using force. A cough, some light shuffling of clothes against bodies, the crunch of teeth. Impossible to discern just how many people were there, but he could guess it was more than three.

“Oh no, he’s been awake for the past, oh, five minutes just listening to us talk. I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t want to be sprawled out on the couch half unconscious, but the magic She uses makes muscles…well, you know, experience rigor mortis. So my guess is that he literally cannot move.” Inquisitive, his words intelligent and terrifyingly precise. A few sharp clanks and rattles bounced around his skull, easily identifiable as two glasses clinking off of each other.

“Rigor mortis, huh? Why didn't you say so a few hours ago, that’s a pretty easy fix.” Simultaneously sarcastic and sincere, as if two identities were at war in her words. There was a creek as something scraped against the floorboards, followed by muffled footsteps and some indiscernible chatter.

Trying to sense what was going on through the noise, a shadow fell over his already darkened vision. He felt a warm hand tilt his head back, the clanging of metal bracelets against one another. Something cold pressed up against his lips and he nearly gagged as something bitter ran across his tongue and down his throat. A weight he had forgotten was there lifted from his chest, cold air rushing into his lungs that could now fully expand. His whole body shuddered. Legs were burning in the pits of hell, arms were being used as a pincushion, head was being hit over and over again by a mallet; he tried to scream but his vocal cords didn’t seem to want to work. But he could move, if you could call violently thrashing in agony movement.

Through the unbearable haze, he just made out a single drop of something pleasantly sweet touch the tip of his tongue. Just as quickly as he had been engulfed in an unending sea of pain, it vanished as if it had never existed at all, his limbs crashing against something soft and velvety. He groaned, turning on his side and fluttering open eyelids with more force than was probably healthy. All that greeted him was a sea of blurred probably humanoid figures.

“Oh right, you probably need these.” A familiar thin piece of wire touched his left hand. He instinctively grabbed them and put the thin frames over his eyes, blinking for a few seconds as everything came into focus. A young woman stood over him with a curious expression dancing in her eyes, her bobbed hair casting an ominous shadow around her cheeks. She smiled warmly. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Well, I’d say like a herd of elephants just flattened me, but that would imply something ran me over, so…I’ll go with like gravity just enacted a personal vendetta against me,” he mumbled, slowly sitting up and holding his head. What…happened just then? There was the soul, then he gave Her his name, and then she started drawing something with string and then…nothing…nothing except darkness, bloodlust, and screams that may or may not have been his as he was consumed by his new name. No longer…well it didn’t matter anymore did it? He was the Young Priest now. And these…these people in the room were his new colleagues. His stomach turned just thinking about it and he sank back down into the cushions.

“Careful there, you were just loaded with enough magic to kill a small bear,” the young woman said, pulling out a crocheted blanket from a nearby basket and draping it over his shoulders. “But hey, you’re conscious and not six feet under, so you must’ve passed the final test with flying colors.”

“I’m tempted to debate you on the conscious part,” he mumbled, spotting four other people in the background. They were sitting at a table set with glasses of colored liquids and small piles of cards, all looking at him with varying degrees of attention and curiosity. He recognized the woman dressed in long flowing clothing and peering at him through spectacles and eyes closed to the world: Old Priestess, oldest of the Followers and the only being in the universe who could actually be considered the Captain’s friend.

“It’s about time you got up, sleepy head,” she said with a large smile. “You’re missing all the fun. And me winning. That’s very important.”

“It’s certainly been one of the better games we’ve had in the past two centuries,” the young man at the head of the table said, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands while orange and green tokens lazily floated around his stark white hair. “Especially because you’re not cheating for once.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I always win fair and square,” Old Priestess said, sipping a steaming mug of what was presumably tea.

“Oh yes, and that five ace play you’re so well known for is completely legal,” he replied with a bemused smirk, dealing out a small stack of cards to only five of the six seats at the table. With a snap of his fingers and a casual hand gesture, the tokens darted away from their suspension and settled in neat little piles next to the glasses, resting with a soft clatter against the wood.

“Are you all…playing poker?” Young Priest asked, stumbling over his words a little. He involuntarily shivered, his skin trying to decide whether he was stuck in the harshest of midwinter blizzards or the height of summer in the driest of deserts.

“Well duh, it’s game night,” a woman said with a snort, downing a large glass of something that reeked so strongly of moonshine that it assailed his nostrils from across the room. She was well muscled, sporting a red tattoo on her exposed arm and eyes that were pitch black where the whites should have been. With a shrug, she drew an arrow from the quiver at her side and pointed it between the dealer and the Old Priestess. “And we’ve already ran as many Uno games as we can before his future seeing funny business makes the games predictable and her illusion mess making makes winning pretty much impossible.”

“And so you immediately switch into poker, shunt me away into the role of the dealer, and never let me play my own hand,” the young man continued with a laugh, spinning a token on his finger. “I simply cannot understand why.”

“I seem to recall a several century winning streak that ended with swords clashing across the common room of a tavern, several choice words aimed at your honor and the honor of whatever creature thought you into this state of being, and the Captain explicitly banning you from ever betting with actual currency for the rest of your unnatural existence,” the last man replied, stretching out large raven wings that seemingly blended into the shadows behind his chair. His hair was swept back out of his face, long as his beard was short.

“Oh, and don’t forget you got bashed over the head with a table leg."

“And burned with a fire poker.” 

“That too,” the winged man agreed. He shot a glance over towards where Young Priest was sitting, giving him about the same amount of attention as he was the cards on the table. A light smirk crossed his face, and he turned back to the others gathered around the table. “But if it’s any consolation, there is no mortal or immortal –living, dead, or otherwise– who can run a table better than you can.”

“And to that, I must agree as well,” the dealer replied. “It’s…well, not exactly _fun_ being stuck as the dealer for all of eternity, but I enjoy watching from the sidelines. It’s _fascinating_ to watch people play card games. Really shows someone’s character…if you know what to look for.”

“Boys, girls, that’s enough chit chat, our newest colleague doesn’t want to hear us old farts talking about all that boring stuff that happened the past,” Old Priestess said, picking up her hand and thumbing through the cards. She smiled wickedly and waved him towards the table. “Come on, don’t be shy. Pull up a seat.”

“I…well,” he stammered, fidgeting a little in his seat. “I assumed that I’d be here to, you know…train or be taught magic or…well, not playing cards, I suppose.”

The Old Priestess snickered, the sound dancing out of her mouth like the yelp of a young fox. “Sweetie, we have all the time in the world here. And we’re all tired out from running across the planet. What’s a game or two or ten?”

Before he could protest, or confess that he wasn’t sure he could physically pull up a seat, the young woman pulled up on his arm and yanked him to his feet with about as much force as someone that small could muster. He shouted a little as he was forced upright. His legs might as well have been made of jelly on a hot summer’s day, but they kept him standing. With shaky steps, and a great deal of help from the young woman, he crossed the room and just about flopped into the wooden chair.

“Hm…unstable leg muscles…didn’t use enough powered newt,” she muttered as she took the seat next to him and picked up the cards. “Sorry about that. But I’m pretty sure you’ll be back to normal in about, oh, an hour or so.”

“Ah, it’s quite alright,” Young Priest said with as much confidence and politeness as he possibly could. “I should be the one thanking you for the potion.” He paused for a second, trying to remember everything he had learned from the years of searching and the old tales whispered in the halls of old wives and suspicious sailors. All of the Followers were fairly unique in talent, so it wasn’t long before he stumbled on an old tale of the greatest potions master in the known realms. “I’m…guessing you’re the Witch?”

“What gave it away?” she giggled, taking a look at her cards and tossing two orange chips into the center. “The potions or the recipe ingredients talk?”

He turned to the young man, remembering the mentioning of him being able to see into the future and a strict ban on card playing games. Combine that with the casual magic he possessed and only one name really came to mind, the name of the chaos entity who could manipulate time and space like a potter shapes clay. “And…I’m betting you’re the Advisor…” he slowly continued.

“Precisely correct,” the young man replied, leaning back in his chair and sipping from a glass of water.

It wasn’t hard to discern the identity of the remaining woman, though the stories of her feats and power were less known. That wasn’t exactly the fault of mortals though, considering so few had met her and lived to tell the tale of the wild woman who spoke with animals and who’s art laid in killing. “Then you must be the Huntress,” he said, nodding toward the woman still brandishing the arrow.

“Oh no, I’m definitely the Witch,” she said with an eye roll and a cursory glance to the cards. She swiped them up in one fell swoop, stared at them for a second, then tossed in three chips. “Me with my giant hunters bow and hip quiver, but thank you for assuming otherwise.”

“Which leaves you as the…Lieutenant,” he finished, the words rolling right off his tongue as he gestured towards the winged individual with a hand. When his brain finally caught up with his actions, he went almost as stiff as he had been just a few minutes prior. This was not just any winged individual; this was the being who could slaughter cities singlehandedly, the one who’s loyalty to their god was unquestioned, the one who was the next in the chain of command. And his leader. “Or, wait, no…the Right Hand?”

“I’ve been called both of those and several more names besides, pick whichever one you prefer,” he said with a shrug, picking up his hand and raising an eyebrow. Taking two chips from the pile, he causally rolled them between his fingers before throwing them into the center. “I take it you are the new Young Priest?”

“Er, yes, sir,” said. As if on cue, he quickly snatched up the cards in front of him and looked them over. A pair of fives…not great odds.

The Lieutenant snorted. “You make it sound like I’m in charge or have any semblance of power.”

“But…aren’t you technically our…leader of sorts?”

“And your point being?”

Young Priest could feel his cheeks turning the same color as his hair. “I…uh…alright then…I’ll just…go back to looking at these cards…” As he trailed off, some of his birth accent slipped out and he couldn’t help but wince.

The Lieutenant chuckled a little and glanced over to Old Priestess. “I will say this, I prefer this one over the former. But you didn’t mention him hailing from the British Isles.”

“I said he was a good fit, was I wrong?” she asked, tapping the top of her tokens with a long finger nail. Curiously, while everyone else had tossed in orange tokens that shined like fish scales, she was using dull green chips with a tortoise shell pattern along the sides. “And what are countries anyways? Borders change, people move, buildings crumble into ruin as languages and accents die out, and time goes on.” She flicked four chips into the center pile.

Huntress glanced him over from head to toe as she refilled her drink. “Well, you’re a little on the scrawny side, but that’s nothing a few days out in the woods won’t cure,” she said with a smirk, tipping the bottle towards him. “Want anything to drink? Whisky? Beer? Vodka?”

“Um…do you have ginger ale?”

“One of these days I’ll get one of you to be my drinking buddy, mark my words,” she said with a sigh, grabbing a can out of the cooler and sliding it across the table. “But yeah, seems like a good fit. Assuming you don’t try and backstab us like the last one did.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Witch said with a nod of her head, leaning back in her chair and balancing it on the back prongs. “Seems like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. And if Old Priestess is telling the truth, you’ve already got a little magic, so this next part will be a piece of cake.”

“I will say, you’re certainly different than I was expecting you to be…and I am very curious to see what our newest colleague has in store,” Advisor said, shooting him a cursory glance and a raised eyebrow. “Now that being said, are you going to bet or not?”

“I mean…I would…but I’m not exactly sure what I’m betting here…” he slowly replied, turning one of the orange betting chips over. “I’m…guessing souls?”

“Not a bad assumption to make, but no, we are currently using enchanted goldfish, though we can always use souls if you want to switch,” the Lieutenant said with a shrug.

“You’re…what?”

“We used to use souls, but then Captain got annoyed with us playing with her meatsacks and messing up their nap time,” the Witch clarified. “But between the koi pond, a little potion stuff from me, and Advisor’s enchantments, it works well enough for casual games.”

“I use turtles because I’m fancy,” Old Priestess chimed in.

Young Priest just slowly set the single chip in the center of the table. “…is it worth for me to question any of this?”

“Nope!” Old Priestess replied, throwing down her hand into middle of the table to reveal a royal flush. “Read ‘em and weep!”

A collective groan erupted from the table as the rest of the Followers tossed their cards with a huff and some very colorful language. With nimble fingers and a victorious cackle, Old Priestess snatched up the pool and started stacking her earnings into neat little piles. There was a sharp clap and the remaining cards floated into a small discard pile, Advisor going back to dealing with the same bemused expression on his face as Huntress cussed out Old Priestess with just about every curse word known to man.

The Young Priest bit back a small smile. Not exactly what he had expected the five most dangerous followers of the Murder God to be like.

But not exactly unwelcome either.


	2. Dis Manibus Sacrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first test for the Young Priest, a ritual to complete, and smores to bake 
> 
> (Note: For those who originally read this work on Tumblr, this version may be slightly different. I made the judgement call to post the un-cut version here, considering it is the true canon version of the events. This chapter is the main reason for the content warning, so please do be safe and read at your own risk.)

“So…um…is sacrificing someone in the fire pit a…mandatory part of the training?” Young Priest asked, staring down into the large rings of beige stone set into dirt damp from the rain. A small fire in the center of the campsite flickered and danced beneath the hundreds of thousands of stars above them, casting shadows that clawed hungrily onto the trees lining the small clearing. Three of the Followers were already seated around the flames, chatting in low voices in a language he didn’t recognize. There was neither a stray leaf resting on the forest floor nor a rock tumbling out of place from the path; the glade reminded him more of a painting on a museum wall than a place where he could actually walk and breathe the midnight air. It was too…perfect to be real.

Well, too perfect to be made by human hands, anyways.

“Oh no, we only do that when we can get our hands on a perfect goat or a virgin,” Huntress said with a smirk and a forceful clap on the shoulder that just about knocked him face first into the pit. “And both of those are in pretty short supply these days.”

“Not to mention those tend to be extremely time consuming,” Advisor added, setting his book down on one of the stones.

“But you said there was a…ritual you guys do out here,” Young Priest replied, gingerly stepping down into the circle and sitting on one of the stone steps. He immediately kicked off his soaked shoes and socks, putting his feet as close to the flames as he could without burning them. “And, well, I figured…since I just learned how to do, well, just about everything I need for my job that I’d have to…you know…” 

“Perform some bizarre occult ceremony?” Witch finished, giggling as she lobbed a pinecone into the little fire. She was seated next to the probably sleeping figure of the Right Hand, mixing something that looked suspiciously like gunpowder in her mortar and pestle. “Where’d you get an idea like that?”

“I mean…it looks like a sacrificial pit.”

“Huh…you’re right, it kind of does,” she replied with a shrug, dumping the mixture into a bowl and folding in dried cranberries. “Didn’t think about that back when we were building this thing up. We just liked the design. But we usually just sacrifice marshmallows and chocolate for s’mores.”

“Hot dogs and french toast too if it’s a particularly good year,” Old Priestess chimed in, offering him a small thermos of hot chocolate. He almost lunged for the bottle, letting the warmth seep into his frigid hands before sipping at the contents. She smiled, her mouth twisting with the knowledge of thousands of years of mortal and immortal shenanigans. “So, tell me, how did your reality bending lesson with these two trouble makers turn out, dearest?”

“Um…good at first…a little on the cold side towards the end…” he answered with a shiver, the spells and techniques still swirling through his head like a tornado. “But according to them, I’m a fast learner.”

She laughed sympathetically, putting a gloved hand on his forehead. “Oh sweetie, did Huntress dump you in the lake?” she asked with a wide grin and a shake of the head. “It’s nothing against you, she just does that sometimes. It’s all in good fun. And nothing wakes you up as well as a quick swim.”

“Hey, the quickest way to teach anyone how to do anything is to give them a little motivation,” Huntress replied, laying down on the upper ring of stones and giving him a wide grin. “And what did he do when I ‘accidentally’ pushed him off the fifty foot cliff? Made the surface of the lake as springy as a mushroom top.”

“Yes, it was quite the impressive display,” Advisor agreed, grabbing a handful of flames straight from the fire and letting it dance between his finger tips. “Of course, little details like temperature modification and dampness mitigation come with time and a lot more fine tuned practice…not to mention considerably less bodily peril.”

“You’re the one who said he needed a real test,” she said with a shrug. “I just provided an incentive to do well.”

“I was under the impression you would just bring down a bear or two, but I suppose even the stars have to be…incorrect in their assumptions once in awhile,” he answered with a mischievous grin. Holding his hand up towards the night sky, he blew a small stream of air at the flames and watched as they turned into a shower of sparks that fell harmlessly onto the stone. “And I do agree this method had considerably less clean up than a mauling.”

Nervously chuckling under his breath, Young Priest downed as much of the steaming liquid as he could without burning his tongue as warmth finally started to seep back into his toes. “So…is there a ritual at all or was that just something you were using to scare me?”

“Oh no, there’s a definitely a ritual,” Old Priestess replied, standing up and brushing off her skirt. “We’re just waiting for our guests to arrive.”

“Our…what now?” 

“Humans always get such funny ideas about things they can’t explain,” she said, slowly starting to circle the fire and move towards the top of the pit. “People see something such as this built overnight and assume it must be sacred to some sort of gods who need appeasement. So they start performing rituals to get our attention and keep us from turning our wrath on the world.” She cackled a little, her eyes opening just enough to show pale yellow irises reflecting the fire light. “Over time, people forget what their ancestors used to do to keep the world turning and a dangerous game turns into just another ghost story around a campfire that rebellious children come and play when the sun goes down.”

He finished the last of the hot chocolate and set it down, feeling his hands shaking and all the blood draining from his face. “They’re coming to…to play The Game…” he stammered, his hands clammy and his heart pounding against his ribcage. “And we’re here to…B-but I just learned how to do this today, I’m not-”

“Time to fade into the background, ladies and gentlemen. The children have come to play,” the Lieutenant suddenly said, no longer half asleep on a makeshift bench but standing at the entrance to the clearing, watching the path with the alertness of a soldier standing guard. He held up a hand and the clearing fell silent, the sounds of chirping cicadas filling the air alongside faint crunching leaves and cautious whispers. Seemingly satisfied, he walked back to the edge of the circle and unfurled his wings with a snap. A small pulse of faint purple energy rippled off his feathers and around the clearing, making the hairs on the back of Young Priest’s neck stand on end, but otherwise not seeming to do much of anything else.

“Ah, that’s much better, now we can talk as much as we want,” Witch said while dusting off her arms, hopping up to the outer ring of stone and continuing to stir the strange mixture in her bowl. Noticing that he alone still stood in the center, Young Priest scrambled up out of the pit just as a small gaggle of children with flashlights and grocery bags full of goodies shuffled into the clearing, passing by the Right Hand without as much as a cursory glance. Between some muffled whispers and nervous giggles, they all jumped down into the circle and took up seats around the campfire, oblivious to the fire blazing away within.

“So they can’t see any of this…or us…yet we’re in their world and not the other way around…what magic even is that?” Young Priest asked, walking over to the Lieutenant.

“Some slight void energy manipulation but mostly just a heavy heaping of misdirection and banking on the minds of children to not process we’re here,” he replied with a shrug. “I would not recommend learning, your techniques will do much the same with less exertion.”

“Ooh, they’re older kids,” Huntress said with large grin splitting her face. She was gazing down at a boy about twelve years old holding a flashlight under his chin, casting a strange shadow on his face as he told a story meant to scare the ones who had never played before. There was a chorus of giggles and shouts as he got to the creepier parts of the story. A wave of her hand and the forest fell silent; it was a few seconds before a kid or two noticed something amiss and shifted in their seats. “This’ll make it much more interesting.”

“Don’t you want younger children?” Young Priest asked, approaching the circle again. The leader having finished his tale, he stood up and held up a hat full of little pieces of paper scribbled with the different roles. “I mean, these ones seem a little…old to be scared by ghost stories.”

“You are right, they are indeed old enough to know stories like that couldn’t possibly be real,” Advisor said, casually stepping into the circle and waving a hand over the slips of paper. The ink shimmered with a light magenta before fading away. At least one kid saw this and shrieked, earning the ire and teasing of their playmates as she blabbered about the ink moving and a strange man. He simply chuckled and moved back next to Huntress. “But they’re certainly young enough to have their own personal doubts, especially if things start going awry.”

“They think they’re so grown up. It’s honestly adorable. Futile and easy to manipulate, but still adorable,” Old Priestess said while shaking her head. As the kids grabbed their little slips of paper and commit their roles to memory, she began weaving through the children and around the clearing at large, throwing her voice until it mixed with the wind and made whispers and snickering voices echo deep within their ears. At this point, even the clear veterans of the game were now glancing around, their eyes flickering with fear and confusion. She glanced over at him. “Come on, sweetie, try a little something.”

“Uh…I-I don’t really know how I feel about scaring innocent children,” Young Priest said even as he adjusted his glasses to better see the faint words. It seemed the oldest boy was delegating himself as the narrator, asking the group if they all knew what they were going to be playing as and what they all had to do. An idea floated to the forefront of his thoughts, one he equally wanted to try out immediately and lock away in the depths of his mind to never even consider again. No, no, these were children and this wasn’t right and he wasn’t about to do something that could scar these kids for the rest of eternity and…and yet…and yet… “But…I do have an idea.”

Reaching down to the ground, he touched a small flower and watched as the stem twisted and curled until it was nearly up to his hip and as black as the sky above them. He carefully plucked it and tied the strangely colored stem into a circle, leaving it to somehow glow with a dark presence. His stomach turning and every fiber of his being saying not to do this, he took one step towards the leader. And another. And another until he carefully set it to float above the kid’s head like a dark halo. With a large grin, the kid finished up the intro and said for everyone to close their eyes.

He let it go and the gathered children all screamed as one.

As if she had been waiting for this exact moment, Witch took the powder and tossed it into the flames. The fire latched onto the dry ingredients and sprung to life, licking at the feet of the kids and sending them into another round of shrieking. They frantically switched off their flashlights and lanterns, looking between each other unsure of whether to run or to stay and see it through. One kid sprang up and made for the clearing, only to see a dense wall of foliage that hadn’t been there before and the harsh laughter of the Huntress. The youngest of the bunch seemed to be silently crying. But the kids seemed to have gotten the message: no one gets out until the game is done.

“Oh, this is a little different,” Witch said with curiosity in her voice, watching as the kids unlucky enough to get picked as the werewolves silently pointed a finger at their victim.

His hands still clammy, Young Priest picked up two sticks and watched the dull brown turn a deep red as he let them sit above the marked child’s head in an ‘x’. He then turned to the witch and placed two smooth stones into each of his hands, each one giving off a small shine in different colors. To the gunslinger, he gave a small twig with a sharpened point. Gathering a few more flowers, he placed them at the feet of whoever the gardener happened to point. Lastly, he approached the seer and placed a small leaf under her palm, the role of the person she was pointing at scrawled in gold.

Old Priestess cackled when he finally finished, giving him a pat on the back and a mischievous grin. “Oh, I see what you’re doing. Oh that’s evil. That is absolutely evil. I knew I saw something a little twisted in you.”

Young Priest flushed, taking a seat and trying to focus on just doing his job and not think about the ethical ramifications of his actions. Before he could continue manipulating the small illusions, however, he felt the need to move behind the young child holding the flowers to be sent as gifts. With wide eyes, he watched as the other Followers took up places behind their corresponding child. The Lieutenant snapped his fingers and the remaining spaces were filled up with spectral bodies, their lifeless eyes staring into his soul. He felt his heart dropping into his stomach. “Oh…we’re…oh gods…”

“You didn’t think we’d be playing too?” the Lieutenant asked, raising an eyebrow. “There is a chance to play The Game, something all of us have come to enjoy.”

“Don’t look so worried, dear, it’s not like any of us can actually die,” Old Priestess pointed out, untying her glove as the murderers trained their sights on the child sitting in front of the Advisor. “Oh what a shame, it looks like you’re the first to go.”

Advisor sighed and unbuttoned his shirt just enough to fully fold his collar down and expose his neck. “Of course they found the seer first,” he muttered, watching as the sticks folded into a skull and crossbones over the unlucky girl’s head. “They really do have the absolute worst luck.”

“In no small part thanks to you,” the Right Hand said with a chuckle. “I never understand why you do that. The clothes thing.”

“Bloodstains are comparatively easy to get out. Claw marks are difficult to repair, and I happen to like this shirt,” he replied with a slight grumble and a mildly annoyed shrug. “Well, I suppose you might as well just get it over with.”

With an evil grin on her face, Old Priestess dropped into the endless night surrounding the clearing. A second. Then two. Then three as she lept from out of the shadow cast by the light of the fire and struck the Advisor from behind, raking her claws across the back of his neck and up through his throat. For a moment, all that appeared were five thin red lines across his skin. Then like a dam holding back a flood, it burst and blood spilled from his jugular in thick crimson streams. He clutched at the deep gouges and dropped to his knees, gasping for air as the blood pooled on the stones and stained his coat scarlet. A sharp cough escaped his lungs and he smiled weakly.

“That one…hurt more than…last time,” he said between the diaphragm spasms, wincing as he removed a hand from his throat. His eyes glazing over, he lunged out with his free hand to keep himself from completely collapsing. “Burns…a lot more than usual…poisoned claws?”

“Nope, just serrated,” she replied, inspecting the wounds as she wiggled her gnarled hand back into the glove. “Hm…not sure I like this one as much. Took a lot more work than my normal claws and has too much of a delay.” 

“Well, if your goal was to increase pain, you did your job…perfectly,” he replied, finally giving in and sprawling out on the forest floor with his eyes shut tight. Between spurts and coughed up blood, he began murmuring in a language Young Priest didn’t recognize. Satisfied, Old Priestess skipped back to her place, giving the Lieutenant a high five on her way back.

Young Priest just tried not to hurl as they watched as the terrified kids hounded someone out at random. As the prosecution and defense whirled through the air and the votes were tallied, another mark appeared above the head of an innocent boy. The kids didn’t know whether to cry or to scream in anger, oblivious to the spectral figure behind the innocent being decapitated with a cruel efficiency.

Stifling a yawn, the Right Hand pointed to one of the kids. “I was certain that one would be found out.”

“I’m surprised the murderers didn’t out themselves with how scared they all look,” Witch commented while kicking her heels against the stone.

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about something like that happening,” Advisor replied with a chuckle, his voice finally back to normal. The bleeding had mostly subsided, leaving just some light pink stains along his hair, and he was threading one of the small slips of paper between his fingers. “I may or may not have…persuaded them to keep character.” Pushing himself up, he brushed his hands off on his coat and began flipping through the pages in his book.

“Aww, that’s sweet, he saved the little girl,” Witch exclaimed with a little laugh. They all watched as the little boy took one of the smooth stones and struck the sticks floating above her head. In turn, she unstoppered a little potion from her bag and fed it to one of the spectral figures as the Lieutenant drove a knife into the figure’s skull. Another townsfolk met a sorry fate during the day; another spectral figure was driven through with a sword. Round three brought a sense of desperation to both sides, given that one wrong move could spell the victory of the werewolves. After what felt like eons, the murderers chose a young boy.

Huntress threw back her head and hollered. “Wrong choice, buddy!” she hooted as the day cycle rolled around and he trained his pointed stick at a young girl. The stick shot out from his hand and wove itself into the symbol of death over her head, revealing her to be one of the murderers with her last words.

“Oh come on, that was a cheap guess,” Old Priestess protested while snapping her fingers and letting out a huff, giving the girl in front of her the dirtiest look.

As the mystified youngster looked on with a gaping mouth, Huntress knocked an arrow to her bow, aiming it straight for Old Priestess. Hunger and the hunt swirled within the dark corners of her eyes. “So, how do you want to do this?”

“Well, normally I prefer claws, but I can make an exception for you, dearest,” she replied, twisting the shadows around her until a small crossbow rested in her hands. “This is fun. We should do this more often.”

“I agree,” Huntress said with a smile, firing clean and true through Old Priestess’ collar bone, piercing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch and sending the woman flying backwards into a tree. At the same time, Old Priestess fired the bolt clean into Huntress’ shoulder.

“Fuck, that one was definitely poisoned,” Huntress said through gritted teeth, pulling the bolt out of her shoulder with a hiss. No blood sputtered out, but pus did, the skin under the break smoking and turning a shade of green more accustomed to pickled olives than flesh. Letting out a long string of curse words, she put her back up against the stone and clenched her hands into fists, sweat running down her forehead and arms. “Damn you fight dirty.”

“No such thing as a fair fight, my dear,” Old Priestess said with a chuckle and a cough, breaking off the end of the arrow before pulling it out. She didn’t so much as wince as blood began pouring out of the hole in her chest, merely poking and prodding at the new orifice with a morbid curiosity.

“Three down already. Perhaps the spell did not hold up as well as intended,” the Lieutenant said, lazily stretching his wings out.

“It’s...well played, that's for sure,” Young Priest admitted with slight hesitation, watching as the group accidentally send an innocent man to an untimely voted off death and a ghost to be strangled. With the next night cycle, the remaining murderer trained his sights on the biggest threat remaining to his survival.

“Apologies, my dear witch, but I must see if you look just as beautiful on the inside as out,” the Lieutenant said with a smirk, spinning his knife on the edge of his finger.

The Witch flushed a pink to rival her crop top and sputtered a little, turning her attentions to the boy at her feet. “Aww man, and they didn’t even get the right person,” she said with a huff as the player witch cast their remaining stone towards someone innocent and she splashed her vial against the ghost, watching with sad eyes as the ectoplasm melted away like acid. “Alright, fine, do your worst.”

“As you wish,” he replied. Before anyone could blink, he had already crossed the circle and plunged the dagger into her sternum. The air left her lungs with a sharp wheeze, leaving the two of them locking gazes as she wrapped both hands over his and around the hilt. He put his other arm around her back.

“Little more to the left next time,” she said with a weak smile, pushing the rest of the blade into her chest. “Hit my lungs.”

“I will have to remember that,” he said with a smile, pulling the dagger out with one fluid motion and catching her limp body. “And I see my intuition was correct.”

“Next game, I am…going to…exsanguinate you,” she coughed, blood seeping out of her mouth and down her shirt. Playfully ruffling her hair, the Lieutenant carefully laid her down on one of the benches and flew back to his spot, cleaning off the blood with a small rag.

The final round of the game was nearly silent as the gardener, who had been diligently passing out flowers to nearly everyone present, chose who they wanted to believe. Young Priest felt the last bit of blood drain from his face as he looked towards the Lieutenant.

“A well played game, and a player who kept to their role,” the Lieutenant said with a smile, watching as the final murderer claimed his victory with a shaking hand and an uneasy laugh, too unnerved to be cheering alongside their partner in crime. He looked over in his direction and shrugged. “Understand this is nothing personal. At some point or another, you will get used to it.”

Young Priest held up his hands and braced for impact, only to watch as the Lieutenant took the dagger he was spinning and threw it directly between his eyes. For a split second, he was flooded with the same unbearable pain that She had inflicted him with, clawing at every cell in his body as his legs gave out and his vision went dark. Then…somehow he was leaning up against a tree, the Lieutenant about at his eye level

“Hm, more training will be needed to fix that. You cannot black out every time you get stabbed,” he said, giving him a quick pat on the knee. “But, over all, a good game was had.”

“Th…thanks,” he stammered, touching the hole between his eyes and feeling a small piece of bone sticking out. The hot chocolate from earlier almost came up. “This is…going to heal…right?” 

“Give it an hour and you’ll look just like new,” Huntress said, holding her shoulder and grinning. “Unfortunately, we don’t scar easily.”

“It’s quite fitting the murderers won in this game,” Advisor said with a smirk, closing the book and setting it off to the side, flicking off the dried bits of blood from his neck. “Almost symbolic.”

“You look exhausted, Young Priest,” Witch said, sitting up and cracking her neck a little. “I know those take a lot out of me, and that’s not the magic I normally use. How about you drop those spells?”

His head pounding and just about shaking himself, Young Priest closed one hand into a fist and dropped the illusions, watching them fade away into the night sky until all that remained was the dying fire. He watched as Huntress waved away the brambles, allowing moonlight to flood down the path once more. Once the last spell fell from his finger tips, his shoulders slumped. Done. It was done. For better or for worse, and he knew which of the two it most likely was, he had done it. The kids looked around the clearing skeptically, a select few finally letting out shaky breaths and wiping away tears.

The Lieutenant smirked and snapped his fingers.

“Well that was fun, wasn’t it?” Old Priestess said in a faux cheerful voice as she wandered closer to the pit bloodied arrow in hand. Every head turned towards her, then towards the rest of them, and then shrieked with the force of a thousand mournful banshees as the children scrambled over each other and fled as if the hounds of hell themselves were on their heels. Before long, the screams faded into the distance and the clearing was silent once again, save for the grocery bags resting against one of the steps.

“Hey, you forgot your food!” Witch called, opening up one of the bags. A light danced in her eyes as she dumped the contents onto the bench. “Ooooh, there’s chips and marshmallows and chocolate and graham crackers! Who wants s'mores?”

“Are you kidding, I always want s’mores,” Huntress said, walking a short distance into the woods and coming back with a few long sticks. “Now this is a proper sacrifice if you ask me. Certainly tastes better than dry bread and sad wine.”

“You would know better than any that those have their ceremonial uses,” Lieutenant said, stretching out on one of the benches and closing his eyes again.

“Don’t you want one?” Witch asked as she speared one of the marshmallows on a stick and set it out to roast.

“I do, it’s just safer for all of us if I stay far away from whatever it is humans consider cooking,” he replied with a slight yawn.

As the others threw more fuel onto the fire and began roasting their finger foods, Young Priest felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Old Priestess standing with a calm smile on her face. “You did very well, my dear. Creative, fresh, and full of surprises. Still working on the pain portion, but that’s to be expected. You did exactly what you needed to and more.”

“I’m…not sure whether or not I should be happy about that fact,” he said, rubbing the back of his head.

“Happy, of course. You obviously know what you’re doing. Keep doing this well and the Captain might just put you in charge of a game soon,” she replied, offering him a hand. The glove was stained pink, the blood from the claws seeping through the white linen. “Come now, let’s get something to celebrate. But be sure to make your own. Witch likes hers more burnt than golden brown.”

Cracking a smile, he took the hand.


	3. A Needed Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love a good beach episode, especially with two new faces.

Warm sunlight beat down on the white sand and crystal clear waters, making the air shimmer and sparkle in the midday sun. Palm trees lazily swayed in the wind, catching the incessant cheering of scantily clad volleyball players and passed out sunbathers. Anyone who wasn’t playing in the sand was holed up in the little tiki bar off to the side, the dark wooden paneling fitting the mood of the patrons trying to drown out their sorrows with alcohol, including a woman with short blonde hair nursing a glass of bourbon.

“Hello there dear, enjoying the vacation?” Old Priestess asked, walking behind the bar counter and grabbing a cocktail glass. Humming a little tune under her breath, she picked up a few bottles and poured the contents into a shaker. “And bourbon? Really? I was under the impression that hell would have to freeze over before you’d drink hard liquor.”

“I was just robbed of a long game and Vincent is being an ass and I _know_ that bastard is planning something but I have no proof, I am a desperate woman Old Priestess,” Murder God said in something between an annoyed sigh and an honestly rather cute growl. She screamed in frustration and pushed the glass across the counter, planting her head into the polished wood. “It’s not like I can get drunk anyways.”

“What are you feeling, dearest? Death in the Afternoon, Spider’s Kiss, Devil’s Poison?”

“Which is most likely to not taste awful?”

“Spider’s Kiss it is then,” Old Priestess said with a chuckle, grabbing the chocolate syrup and melon liqueur.

“Please tell me Young Priest’s training went well, I need a piece of good news right about now,” Murder God mumbled, rubbing her temples with her perfectly manicured fingers. “Also, what in the actual hell are you wearing?”

“You’re the one that made the beach episode, love. I’m just fitting the theme” Old Priestess replied, sliding the drink across the counter and taking a sip of her own questionably tasting drink. Her normal long, flowing garments had been replaced with a simple flower patterned bathing suit, covered by a see through magenta sarong and light windbreaker. “But I think our newest colleague will be more than ready for the big day. He’s given us quite the enthusiastic showing.”

“Good,” Murder God said through gritted teeth, sitting back up and snatching the drink up. Tipping it back, she drank far more of the cocktail than she should’ve in one gulp. “At least _that’s_ one less thing I need to worry about.” She set the glass down, now almost half empty and smelling very strongly of vodka. “Speaking of which, where _is_ he? And the rest of them? Did you lose them _again?_ ”

“Dearie, I’m not that irresponsible. They’re further off down the beach with Nebbie,” Old Priestess said with a casual hand wave, motioning to a little cove through the window. In the distance, a large comically light blue whale was surfaced just off of the coast, the small forms of the Followers lounging in the distance. On the whale themself were Witch and Huntress, the former sporting a frilled purple bikini with orange flowers while the latter covered her simple black swimsuit with a gray t-shirt. Further in, Advisor was dangling his toes into the water with a red and white towel at his side, dressed in a dark purple swim shirt and dark red swim shorts. Lieutenant was seated next to Advisor, sporting just a simple pair of blue swim trunks that exposed a web of horizontal scars crossing his back. The only outlier was Young Priest, dressed just the same as always and reading a book under a large umbrella.

“Oh good, they’re with the void whale, that’s so much better,” Murder God mumbled, drinking more of her cocktail and sighing as she watched the shenanigans go down.

“Need me to take over for a bit again?” Old Priestess asked, pushing her glasses further up her nose and opening her eyes in little slits to let the summer sunlight dance within her irises. “I do love running them. Reminds me of the old days before of all of this fancy magic and reality breaking when it was just you and me and that little strip of land out in the woods.”

“No, no, I’m fine, just leave me here with my drink that does absolutely nothing for my mental state, which by the way, doesn’t taste completely like off-brand moonshine, so thanks for that,” Murder God replied, dragging her finger around the rim of the glass. Raising two fingers into the air, she motioned to a woman floating off in the corner, scribbling endlessly on long rolls of scrolls with her long brown hair brushed back out of her face. “How goes the scribing there, Bookkeeper? Get everything in already?”

The woman glanced over, her quill still scribbling even though her attention was on the bar and the two of them. As like everyone else stuck in this scenario, she was dressed to the theme, wearing an earthy dark green bikini. She wordlessly motioned to the several scrolls floating behind her, all wrapped up with a single red string and lightly colored gold. “There was…not much to record…” Bookkeeper said, her voice low and dripping like honey.

“Good, because it’s time for you to go and meet your newest colleague,” Murder God said with a little more of her normal sadistically cheerful voice. “I’m sure his story will make an excellent addition to your collection. It’s been a bit since we last added something to the Followers’ section of the library.”

“If that is your will…” Without another word, Bookkeeper bowed her head and floated towards the exit of the bar, grabbing her sunhat off of a peg and plopping it over her pointed ears.

“I suppose that’s my cue to leave as well,” Old Priestess said, walking out from behind the bar and heading for the little exit to the bar. As she passed by the little mini fridge, she grabbed a large picnic basket that definitely had not been resting there a minute ago. “Have a good rest of your day, dearest.”

“Don’t think I didn’t see the fanfiction about me and Vincent, we are having a talk about that.”

“Oh Bookkeeper, how lovely it is to see you again,” Old Priestess said, completely brushing past her rather annoyed friend boss and catching up with the floating woman in just two strides. “Tell me, sweet pea, how has it been holed up in the library?”

Bookkeeper just focused on the scroll in hand, not even slightly twitching her ears to indicate she was paying attention.

“We missed you at the summons, you know. Doing things out in the open is never as much fun without our scribe there watching,” Old Priestess continued, letting the warm sand run over her bare feet and toes. “You also missed game night, Uno, poker, me winning…”

A wall would’ve reacted more.

“You know, I hear there was even a small massacre at, well, what little is left of Huntress's old forest”

At this, the corners of Bookkeeper’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “I see…I will…have to consult the others for the events that transpired then,” she remarked, switching out her scroll and continuing to write, the feather dancing along the page with the grace of a hummingbird in flight. “And I heard the summons and met with Lieutenant…I was just too busy catching up on my records to leave for any significant stretch of time.”

“You really need to get out more,” Old Priestess replied, turning a bend in the coastline. As their steps and idle chatter drew them closer to the other Followers, a small flicker tore through the carefully sculpted trees and background shrubbery. Before Old Priestess had the means or the care to patch up the hole so rudely punched through the fabric of the void, a man fell through and landed with something between clumsiness and impeccable grace on the sand. He was scrawny, sickly even, though tall enough to dwarf even the Lieutenant. Like a visual representation of why mortals should not mess with the natural order, the right half of his body was picture of relative health while the left was, at best, showing more muscle and bone than flesh. The nurse scrubs she had remembered seeing him in last were gone, instead replaced by a dark red wetsuit.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh, hello-hello-hello Old-Old Priestess-Priestess, Bookkeeper-Bookkeeper,” the man stuttered as he picked himself up off the ground and brushed the sand off of his arms and out of his curly gray hair.

“Oh gods, not you,” Bookkeeper muttered, aggressively grabbing her new quill and pulling a red string out of her hat. With two quick knots, she tied up the finished scroll with a little bow and set it off to float along behind her.

“Hello there, Doctor, enjoy your stay in the void?” Old Priestess asked, continuing to tread along the coast.

“Yes-yes-yes, it-it was-was-was very en-enjoyable, very-very educational,” he replied, picking up his fallen medical bag and clearing his throat. “Also-also YOU ABANDONED ME THERE.”

“Yeah I did,” she replied with a smirk and a small laugh.

“WHY.”

“Builds character and keeps you from trying to help people you shouldn’t be,” she said. She shrugged her shoulders and let a wicked smile cross her face. Bookkeeper smirked a little at the statement before continuing her writing. “Also, I don’t know if you heard, but it saved you from the attempted coup, so you should really be thanking me.”

“So-so-so it seems-seems,” Doctor replied, rubbing his left arm and shuddering. “Did-Did you think-think I-I-I was going-going to find-find my way-way-way out and come-come back-back-back?”

“I mean, you do have the nickname of the Part Timer for a reason, my love,” Old Priestess said, giving him a pat on his good shoulder.

“This-this-this is true-true,” he replied. “Though-though I did-did hear the-the-the summons and-and the good-good news-news-news.”

“Ah, good, we’re headed to meet him right now. Such a jumpy little thing, so compassionate…not unlike you,” she said with a sigh. “By the way…“

“Yes-yes?”

Old Priestess reached into the picnic basket and pulled out the bloodspattered dress from just a few days ago, a perfectly round bullet hole in both the front and back of the knitted fabric. “Could you be a dear and fix my dress?”

The stutter dropped. “…did you get shot _again?_ ”

Old Priestess suddenly found the giant whale much more fascinating than the current conversation. “…Not on purpose.”

“You said that last time.”

“It’s not like I was trying to ruin a perfectly good dress, he’s the one who fired the gun,” she said, casually gesturing into the air and smiling.

The Doctor sighed and grabbed the stained clothing out of her hands, stuffing it into his medical bag and zipping it shut. “Fine-fine-fine, but this-this-this is the-the last-last-last time-time,” he replied, slipping back into the stutter.

“You’re an absolute doll,” she said, gently patting his cheek as they rounded the bend and came into view and earshot of the other Followers. She cleared her throat a little, letting the wind and the land remember how to carry the voice of a elder god who once controlled the elements like a sculptor shapes stone and clay. “Young Priest!”

The young redhead just about leapt into the umbrella over his head, scrambling to close the book and get to his feet. “Y-yes, Old Priestess?”

“Come over here, I want you to say hello to the last two of our merry little bunch. They were a little…preoccupied and couldn’t make it to game night,” Old Priestess said with a calm smile, holding up the picnic basket for everyone to see. “Oh, and get something to eat. I brought sandwiches for everyone.”

“Aw sweet! Lunch time!” Huntress said, jumping off of the back of the monstrous whale and swimming back to shore.

Old Priestess set down the basket on a nearby rock, watching the others all get up and walk over, giving their greetings to the remaining two Followers and catching up on events long since past. Bookkeeper and Advisor began comparing notes on the past couple of days, both of them engrossed in their respective reading materials while Young Priest looked on in something akin to mild confusion and curiosity. Huntress and Doctor shared a bottle of wine while he took out a needle and thread for the repair work. Lieutenant simply took Young Priest’s place under the umbrella, lying back and stretching his wings out. Taking three sandwiches and some various cutlery, Old Priestess walked over to join him and promptly sat down out of the sun. She took a napkin and wrapped the turkey sandwich up in a neat little package and set it off to the side. For later.

After all, Witch would probably want something when she got back.


	4. A Promise to Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter between two old colleagues.

Between the sudden arrival of old friends and a well timed distraction from her ever so wonderful whale friend, it had been almost comically easy for Witch to slip under the shimmering blue waves and away from the spike of antics she knew was about to occur. Weaving through the lazily swimming fish and the expertly crafted sand deposits, she almost danced through the clear ocean waters. She kept to the hidden underwater world for as long as her lungs could manage, pained and desperate as they were for air, before breaking the surface a long ways away from the hidden cove and just a short ways away from the main resort area. Regardless of what the Captain had ripped and sewn into her body and mind, her love of swimming seemed to have stayed relatively intact. Scrambling up onto the sand, she took a second to flop down onto the warm sand and let her arms and legs sink into the earth as she listened to the volleyball game down the beach.

It was…kind of nice for a game world suspended somewhere in the endless unforgiving void. Much better than the post-apocalyptic wasteland, anyways.

Waiting just long enough for some warmth to return to her arms, Witch eventually sprang to her feet and brushed the sand out of, well, pretty much everywhere that wasn’t covered up by her bikini. Two minutes and less success than she would’ve liked, she huffed and climbed up onto a nearby rock. Taking a running start, she leapt back into the ocean, letting the water rise almost to her nose as she cleaned out her hair and ears.

“Now, what do we have here…” an all too familiar voice called out, one that jabbed at Witch’s eardrums and made her wish she had a tail and gills right about this second. A man stood just a ways away, relatively short for the times and a haircut about a century too old. While he normally sported an aviator’s jacket as was customary of members of the air force, he instead had one a Hawaiian shirt that could rival a bird of paradise in gaudiness. He took a long swig of something probably alcoholic, plastering a smirk across his face the second he had downed the contents. “Ah, Margaret, wasn’t expecting to see you all the way out in this little corner of hell.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see me here either but hey, not a bad way to be spending my Sunday afternoon,” she replied with a sickly sweet smile, striding out of the ocean and wringing the water out of her hair. So, he still remembered enough to be able to hurl insults, huh? That was certainly generous, certainly a great deal more than he deserved.

Witch still wasn’t entirely sure how or when Old Priestess dug up knowledge about Vincent becoming a game player and making some strange deal with Her for the lives of the other souls trapped alongside him. Needless to say, there had been a heavy helping of debate among them all whether or not to strangle the traitor on sight before they came to a relatively reasonable decision: she would go find him, see how much the douche canoe actually remembered, and then they would figure out whether or not to get permission to break his knees. Repeatedly. For a century. “And you know, Vincent, it’s rude to call people by names they don’t like.”

“Maybe if you weren’t one of her little pawns, I might respect that. But since you’re pretty much just a bitch with a human face, I really don’t fucking care,” he said, leaning his back up against a nearby palm tree and taking another drink.

“I was trying to be civil, but if that’s how you want to be, then call me that again and I’ll actually exsanguinate you,” she said, brightening her smile and tone. With a clap of her hands, gold and black bracelets wavered into existence directly over her wrists. Still grinning innocently, she delicately traced a finger around the metal bangles, placing one of her fingers up against a little thorn. “Is that clear?”

“Hey, the game’s over. You can’t do that,” he said carefully, slowly lowering the glass and shifting his weight onto his opposite foot. “There has to be some sort of clause or regulation or rule about you and your merry band of bastards not coming in here and…fucking things up.”

She clasped her hands behind her back and tilted her head to the side in what was supposed to be a cute gesture. “Of course there is, don’t you remember? You were helping run this place for a bit,” she said with a giggle. “Or, actually, maybe you don’t. She probably had to go in and remove a lot of stuff after you went and tried to kill all of us.”

“Oh just shut up, what do you want?” he sneered, pinching his eyebrows together and shaking his head as if almost in pain. No witty remark, no rules taunt, nothing to indicate that he actually had once been the one painting canvases and weaving strings into beautiful landscapes before putting sparks into the souls to make them shine.

“Just wanted to see how you were holding up as a player,” she said, hopping up onto the rock and shaking the rest of the water clinging to her thick strands of hair. “Certainly a better fate than being tossed into a flaming hell pit for all of eternity.”

“Why do you think I’m here?” he replied in monotone, gesturing to the endless sea with the glass in his hand and scratching at the back of his neck with the other. Though it had been fairly faint in the blinding sunlight, it was still hard to miss the bright red loop resting loosely around his neck and chest, knotted just tight enough to prevent someone from casting it off. “At least then the blonde bitch is being honest about what she’s doing.”

Witch idly inspected the bangles on her left arm. “Strike two, Vincent. One more towards me or them or Her and I can’t be as nice as I have been so far.”

“How can you stand it?” he snapped, flinging the now empty glass against a nearby rock. It shattered on impact. “That… _she_ took everything from you. Your cousins, your best friend, your own mother…and you still serve her. _Willingly._ How can you do that? How can you look at the woman who killed everyone you loved, everything you were and always had been, and not want to stab her right between the fucking eyes?” His voice was dripping with malice and utter revulsion, with pain and sorrow and the voice of a man who was a father and a husband before he was anything else.

“You know why I do,” she replied, placing a hand on the rock and putting her weight onto her hands. “I cheated Her out of a death, my death. I was a doomed woman from the moment I decided to save myself. All things considering, this wasn’t a bad option.”

He crossed his arms and glared, the hatred in his eyes strong enough to render flesh from bone. Not that it would do very much. It had been a long time since physical pain did much of anything to her. “You disgust me. Every bit of your sorry existence disgusts me.”

“It’s like I said,” Witch said with a smirk. “You’re a good person, Vincent. You make the mistake of assuming I’m the same.”

As if he had been waiting to hear the words leave her lips, his sneer turned into a cocky smirk. “You know, you’re right, you’re not a good person. Not in the fucking slightest,” he said, lunging forward without warning and grabbing her arm. Before she could protest or try and pull away, he yanked her up onto her feet. “But I do know there’s gotta be some tiny sliver of something left in you with all the work you do in that little shop of yours. You know, the babies you’ve delivered, mothers you’ve saved, sick you’ve cured.”

She brought her free hand up and started ticking off her fingers. “And the towns I’ve cursed, the masses I’ve poisoned, the innocents I’ve killed,” she replied, twisting them into slight specific hand motions for a potentially magical solution to her problem. “Not to mention an unhealthy amount of stabbings and bullet wounds and overdoses and defenestration.”

Almost casually, Vincent slapped her hands down. “You’ve defenestrated someone? _You?_ Come on Margaret, you’ve got the muscles of a newborn mouse, and not a normal fucking newborn mouse, no! The _runt_ of the goddamn litter.”

“It’s Witch.”

“Point still stands.”

“Magic might’ve been involved.”

“Yeah, I still don’t believe you.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Witch said, her voice dangerously even and low. She tried to break her arm from his hold; it barely so much as budged. “It’s never going to work. She won’t let you win this.”

“Damn it, you know this isn’t right. You were human once, you know these people don’t deserve anything that’s happening to them. And I’ll take whatever chance I can get to prove that murderous backstabbing bastard wrong and get them home,” he said in a near growl, fire burning within his voice but his eyes twinkling with the dangerous notion of a man with a terrible, awful, risky idea. “And you’re right. It’s not going to work. There’s no way it can unless I wake them up and get some help.”

“Vincent, nothing has changed since you tried to get me to commit treason alongside you, I can’t help,” she hissed with a voice that could cut through concrete even as her words trailed off into a whisper. “I gave her my loyalty, I made my choice. There’s nothing I can do.”

The two of them stood there for a spell, both of them lost in the memories of the past. It wasn’t so different, in honesty. He stood in control, bloodied and bruised with one of those mystical black daggers in hand and throwing her name across the room with a shout. She knelt bound by her own rules, her breathing labored as blood poured from jagged holes in her stomach, staining the floors of her shop a brilliant red and watching helplessly as he rummaged through her spellbooks for ancient secrets that should have stayed buried.

“Well, that’s true as of this exact moment in time…but there’s nothing that says that the future has to remain the same” he said, dragging her at breakneck pace across the stark white beaches. “Come on, it could be fun.”

Her heart was pounding loud enough that her pulse was up somewhere in her ears.

“I know what you’re doing and you’re going to stop that train of thought right there.”

“I was going to keep my word, you know. Despite the fact you tried to, you know, put holes into me and drain my blood for your potions, I still would’ve gotten them out. You know, your family, along with everyone else,” he said with a smirk, throwing open the door to the cute little tiki hut bar. “And you know what, because I know you’re big about stuff like that, I think I’m going to actually keep that promise.”

“Vinny-“

“Hey, Murder God! I’ve got a question for ya!”

The woman at the bar snapped her head around, training her golden eyes on the two of them. A rather simple Hawaiian shirt rested over her normal red dress, allowing her to stay on theme while still retaining her normal sense of fashion. She set down what looked like an intricate cocktail glass and slowly spun the little stool until she faced the both of them, one eyebrow raised in what could have been slight annoyance, mild curiosity, or sadistic opportunity. Knowing the Captain, it was all three at once.

“Oh hello there Vinny, I see you found one of your former colleagues, did the two of you have a nice time? Oh wait, you don’t look all that beat up…Witch, were you being nice to him again? You know you all have free reign to stab him after the game is done,” the Murder God said, giving the two of them cursory glances and smirking a little. “I mean, it’s only fair after what he did to you, with all the banishment and the stabbing and the tearing up of my void, that took a lot time to fix, by the way.”

“I was going to before he dragged me here,” Witch muttered, snatching her arm away and rubbing at the red mark on her arm.

“Well, then get on with it, Vinny. No need to keep our lovely witch here waiting,” she continued, tapping idly on the counter with a rather bored expression.

“So, I am well aware you’re trying to set me up to fail, but do your pawns have to specifically try and stop me?”

The Murder God laughed, the humor in her voice hollow and with about as much substance as a bed made out of air. “Oh that’s adorable that you’d think any of the Followers would want to help you out in any capacity after you basically burned every single bridge you possibly could’ve with them. But no, I made the deal between the two of us, so, technically speaking, no, they can’t actively try and stop you. Now, if you do something out of line, I can’t promise you anything.”

“See, I know they all hate my fucking guts, that’s not what I’m asking,” Vincent said, crossing his arms. “I’m asking if you would let them do something.”

If anything, the Murder God’s laughter only got more hollow as she leaned back into the counter. “This is too good, it really is. You want me, to let them, help you, beat me? The one person they all work for?”

“No, I want to get her family out,” Vincent continued, standing about as straight and flexible as a flagpole and pointing to her with his thumb. “I made her a promise that I intend to keep and that was to get her family free from you. They’re innocent and you know they are. They made no wish to be here. They’re here because you abducted them to play a game.”

Witch stared daggers at him, her fingers itching to take a dagger and plunge it into his stomach and see how much he liked having holes in the most vital part of his body. “Vincent, shut up.”

He completely ignored the interjection. “What would I get for saving them?”

The Murder God looked him up and down, a smirk crossing her lips. She casually glanced in her direction, giving an icy stare laced with eons of events and memories hidden behind her dangerous golden eyes. Behind it all, however, was something that Witch had been absolutely dreading to see. “Well, Witch, do you want to help him or not?”

Witch opened her mouth and then closed it, gritting her teeth together. So, this was how the payment came due, then. “My loyalty is yours and my actions are yours to command, Captain,” she replied, bowing her head a little even as the words tasted bitter in her mouth. “That was our agreement.”

“Alright, how about this, Vincent,” the Murder God said, standing up from her stool and crossing the gap between them. “I’ll admit, it’s not a bad story for the Hero to go off and save the family of his enemy. Has some really good tension there. So, I’ll let your righteous human heart go off and try and find them. Not save them, mind you, they’ve been asleep for so long that waking them up would probably just turn them into shrieking wraiths and that’s a mess no one wants to deal with.”

He growled. “Oh fuck you, you just don’t want me getting more help. And how do you expect me to find them if they don’t play the games.”

“For once, Vinny, I’m not.” She smiled wickedly, feigned sympathy crossing her face. “They’re so far gone now that the best you could do for them is to just let them move on. And as how you’re going to find them, well, that’s for you to figure out, now isn’t it, Hero? But, if you can find every person who died during that game, you…hm, what do you think, Witch? What’s a good reward for this little…side quest, let’s call it?” the Murder God asked, throwing a small glance towards her.

With a distressed noise that was supposed to have been a protest, Witch rubbed the back of her neck and thought for a few seconds. Well, this was a mess if she’d ever seen one. So much for bringing back good news to her colleagues. But, might as well play it fair. He was offering to get her family out of the void and hopefully to a slightly more peaceful afterlife. She could somewhat respect that. “I can give the standard three favors,” she finally said with a sigh, ticking off three of her fingers. “One memory, one aid in any situation within my power, and one escape from any situation within my power.”

“Well, there we go, there’s your terms. Find all of our dear Witch’s sleeping family and get her help. Don’t locate them all before you awaken them all or fail miserably, and well, you know what, I’ll be nice and say you just get nothing instead of some horrible painful consequence…you know, beside any backlash from her for not fulfilling your promise,” the Murder God said with a smile, stretching her hand out. “Do we have a deal, Vincent Marshall Reid?”

With a hateful fire in his eyes, Vincent shook the hand. “Deal.” There was no flash, no flare, no flourish of showy magic that the naked eye could see. To someone who could see the workings of magics, however, a thin string hovered in the air between them, tying their hands together in a knot sealed with the pact. It hung just as long as the handshake lasted, barely more than a second, before fading into the sunlight.

“I’m glad we could agree on something. Now, you two go have your fun, I’m going back to my vacation,” the Murder God said, releasing the hold and walking away with a casual hand wave. With a wave of her skirt, she vanished into the back room while clicking her heels against the stone floor.

The second the Captain passed the darkened doorway, Witch felt the dagger appear in her palm, the familiar weight resting in her hand like an old friend come back to play. Well, it was better than nothing. “You know, I’m actually in a pretty good mood after that,” she said with a grin, whipping her arm in an arc and plunging it straight into Vincent’s shoulder. “So I’ll do it non-lethally this time.”

She didn’t stay to hear his sudden cry as the dagger melted into his flesh, or the low hiss as he bound up the wound, or the large amount of ‘fuck yous’ that echoed past the wood as she skipped out of the bar and ran back down the beach. No, she didn’t need to stick around for all of that. If Vincent wanted to play this little game with her, then fine, she would do it the way all the Followers played their games: fair and equally cruel. And by the rules, a good old fashioned stabbing was entirely within her realm to do.

Besides, she needed to say hello to everyone before the scene changed and everything melted away. It had been too long since she had paid Bookkeeper and the Part Timer a visit, and assuming there was still one left for her, Old Priestess knew how to make a mean sandwich.


	5. The Empty Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newest Follower goes wandering.

Like mists on the riverbed exposed to the noonday sun, the scenery faded away until there was nothing, nothing except the endless strings and intricate webbing hanging down in all directions. The false sun was gone, replaced by a cold that was felt in the bones as opposed to the flesh. Young Priest shivered, wrapping his arms close to his chest and taking tentative steps along a thicker weaving of strings. They were surprisingly sturdy, light to the touch and almost comforting, a foothold in the endless expanse. Red strings, connecting and binding the nothing together with a story. With fate.

He wasn’t sure if that was a comforting thought or not.

Cupping his hands into a shallow bowl, he let soft words fall from his lips and watched as a delicate glowing flower appeared in his palms. He smiled wistfully, taking the stem in one hand and using the other to hold onto a string or two as he wandered. No sound echoed from his footfalls, no horizon loomed in the distance. It was dark, it was light, it was unendingly vast, it was oppressively close, it was the nothing in between everything.

It was…the Void, or at least, part of it. The others called it the Web, the place where their Captain ran the games and all manner of lost souls slept in between the games, resting or reliving the games over and over again in their nightmares. It was silent, or rather, it had been silent. Now screams peppered the nothing as well, unending pleas and cries from those who had been awakened or only partially so, trapped within their own minds and memories. The sound grated on his ears, made him want to find a cluster of strings and climb out into lighter and safer parts where Witch had her shop and the game room sat open for a bit of relaxation. Places that did not remind him of darker times and darker memories. Even so, he pressed on.

There was…something he needed to find in here.

With careful steps and even more careful jumps, Young Priest descended further into the Void, always keeping one hand on a string and using the glow of the flower to illuminate the paths ahead. It got no colder, no darker, but the strings slowly grew ever more clustered together, blocking paths and forcing him down other routes until all sense of direction was lost. He glanced up at the endless web, his heart strangely calm and his mind surprisingly clear. Lost, perhaps, but the strings did not seem to mind his presence. Even so, the utter stillness was uncanny. There was no air, yet his chest still rose and fell with ease, each breath sounding much too loud on his ears. Almost unconsciously, he slowed his breathing bit by bit until there was nothing to hear at all, returning the void to its silence.

Holding the flower over his head, he focused his attention on the little light and watched it brighten. With its newfound power, the light finally found something to latch onto, something glinting in the darkness. Young Priest turned his eyes to the new finding, feeling his skin crawl ever so slightly at the sight. A person was suspended in the strings, eyes closed in restless slumber yet not twitching as much as a muscle.They were not held up by any one string but instead dozen, their limbs dangling off into the abyss ad they laid on their makeshift hammock. From the angle he stood, it was hard to make out any defining features this person may have had in life. He saw what the light had latched onto: a simple silver chain around their neck, overlapped by a simple red loop.

One of Her playthings, then, one of those who had made a wish and paid the ultimate price for it.

If She hadn’t wanted him as Her Young Priest, if he hadn’t made a deal instead of a wish, that could’ve…would’ve been him.

Feeling shivers run down his spine, he gripped the flower close to his chest and continued on, now having a better understanding of what he was trying to find…what he was going to find. Now having wandered more through the strings for a decent chunk of time, he began to see more of the patterns to the seemingly endless madness. Main routes were larger and mostly free of obstructions, smaller paths lead to the ‘bedrooms’ where the souls slept. The more he walked, the less strange things began to seem, the less jolting seeing suspended bodies became, the more order he began to see and the possibilities that lied between the nothing.

It was…almost beautiful, a blank slate from which he could pull and pluck and spin new things into existence. The strings buzzed under his fingertips, pulling him down corridors and forming images in his mind, of apocalyptic landscapes battered by elements, of wintery cabins with homely furniture and a roaring fireplace, of dinner parties with crystal glasses and mysteries to be solved. For the first time since he stepped into this place, his lips curled up into a smile, imagining the possibilities and what he could do if he just took a string and bent it here or there, sending out what was in his head into the nothing and making…something.

His feet fell still and he gazed at his surroundings, seeing the curves in the strings and the ordering of the clearings. It was…a stage. An empty stage. And he was here to paint the canvas.

A dull whisper whisper echoed past his eardrums, a gasp that pierced the silence ahead of him and broke the spell on his feet. With quickened feet and his heart beating in his throat, Young Priest bounded down the path and around a corner, holding the flower under his hands to dim the light. The strings were thicker here, funneling him along with almost a mind of its own towards the source of the sound.

As he came around a bend, he stumbled to a quick halt as his eyes caught something, no, someone, that could only be described as out of place. A young woman floated between the strings, her form flickering and wavering in the dim light of the moonflower. She had nothing below her waist except for a motionless blur, her top half translucent and barely holding form. From what little he could make out, she looked young and yet not so, the signs of age barely holding to her face and mousy brown hair. Her dress was incredibly old fashioned, the style straight out of a magazine from the early nineteen twenties.

With trembling hands, Young Priest slowly edged closer to the ghostly woman, closing the flower between his hands. He made it perhaps three steps before the woman tensed up, whipping around for just long enough for him to her catch steel gray eyes widening in fear. Before he could so much as react, she turned and sped off into the maze, speeding between the strings with supernatural haste.

“Wait!” he called out, scrambling after her. Feet pounding on the strings, the web bounced under him as he bolted down the paths, straining his eyes to catch even so much as a glimpse of the woman as she ducked and dipped between the strings. No matter how fast he ran, however, she was faster, her form flickering with wild abandon between present and not. Though her image may have been barely there, she deliberately flew around the strings, seemingly trying to avoid their touch. The two of the raced each other for what could have been seconds or minutes or maybe eons until her image flickered one last time and simply faded into the vast nothing as if she had never been there at all.

Young Priest skidded to a stop, looking around the strings wildly for any sign of the strange woman or something familiar or even just the slightest trace that he hadn’t simply imagined what he saw and got even more lost for nothing. When all of his options were thoroughly exhausted, he sank down into a small bed of strings and looked at the flower in his hands. To his surprise, it was glowing with a faint red light, a single string wrapped around its stem. Following the line with his eyes, he watched the string disappear down a path just narrow enough for a single person to pass through.

He swallowed, slowly getting to his feet and taking the string into his hand. It was…warm, light, filled with a memory he had not cared to think about for a long time not because it hurt, but the opposite. Winding the string around his hand as he walked, he stepped into the corridor.

He had found her.


	6. A Promise to Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for stories to be told.

With one string gliding between her fingertips, Witch descended into the Void, swirling around the delicate thread like a dancer gliding along a suspended ribbon. A wide grin on her face, she plunged into the tangled web of the gameworlds, bending around the sleeping souls and the thick clusters of string as she fell. Her eyes darted left and right, hunting for traces of movement or motes of light within the nothing. It wasn’t long before her eyes caught a speck of red light and she swung to a stop, her feet lightly touching down on a thick weaving. Pushing past the crisscrossing designs, she stepped into a little side alcove with a sweet smile on her face. 

“So this is where you were hiding.”

Young Priest nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around with widened eyes and tensed muscles. Only when he saw her did he relax ever so slightly, sinking back down into his seat and sighing. In between his hands was a delicate moonflower, glowing red and trailing a single crimson string. “Oh…it’s just you. I’m sorry about that, Witch.” 

“Don’t be sorry, I’m the one that snuck up on you,” she said with a small giggle, squeezing into the space and plopping down beside him. “I’ve gotta say, kid, you’ve got guts coming this deep into the Web despite barely having any training at all. It’s kind of admirable.”

“How…how did you find me down here?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “How did…you know I would be down here?”

“A lucky guess,” she replied with a shrug and a smile. “That, and something had to be bouncing the strings wildly but not holding them tight.”

He gave a low chuckle at that, the sound forced and hollow in his throat. “Ah…right…I suppose spiders would know when something disturbs the peace of the web.”

She gave him a quick pat on the back, turning her smile sweet and perhaps a touch comforting. “String riding takes a lot of work, but I’m sure we’ll have you climbing and sliding in no time at all.” Though her words were aimed at her newest colleague, her eyes were wandering throughout the alcove. Here, the strings were woven with a basket-like quality, not to trap someone but to keep prying eyes from looking on the girl sleeping within. She was young, barely old enough to think herself mature when all other eyes knew otherwise. Her hair was rusty red, face dotted with freckles yet otherwise smooth and with a peace rarely seen among those who still slept. A light sweater kept the chill off her chest while a shirt and tights bundled her legs up warm. Around her wrist looped a single red string.

The same red string attached to Young Priest’s flower.

“So, who’s she?” Witch asked, glancing at the young man as she folded her legs off to the side.

Looking at the girl over the rim of his glasses, Young Priest let out a long and deep sigh, taking the flower and carefully placing it into the girl’s hands. His movements were slow, careful, as if he was worried anything too fast would break the scene and it would shatter into nothing. “Her name is…was…Emily. My…sister…my _twin _sister.” With shaking breaths, he took the girl’s hand and lightly grasped it between his own, his eyes dry but dull and filled with a deep sorrow that not even time could rightly fix. “She looks…a lot better than when I last saw her. She has hair for one…color in her skin. It’s…almost like she’s just sleeping and…I could wake her up with a call to breakfast.”__

____

____

Witch placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch light and warm. “That’s one of the few graces of the Captain. Bodies get torn apart. Souls remember what they actually looked like.” A pause hung between them for a long time, Young Priest staring silently at the girl and keeping their fingers intertwined.

“I…never thought I’d get to see her again,” he whispered, barely able to choke out the words. “Even…even like this.” He coughed ever so slightly, the sound echoing in the stillness. With wrenching effort, he tore his gaze from one women to the other for just a split second, meeting her eyes and sighing. “I…suppose I owe you an explanation. Or did She already tell you all about our deal?”

“The Captain keeps those pretty private, and for good reason,” she replied, giving his shoulder a light and comforting squeeze. “All of us have different stories: desperation, information, power, selfishness. And those stories have power. She’s the only one who really needs to know. Me? You don’t owe me anything. If you want to tell me, that’s on you.”

“Aren’t…you curious, though?”

“Of course I am,” she said with a small giggle, one that quickly faded into a sympathetic smile. “But I’m also pretty good at waiting. We’ve got all the time we could ever want here.”

Young Priest swallowed, his eyes gazing on the moonflower resting in his sister’s other hand. “I…shouldn’t be alive at all, really. Maybe you picked this up earlier, maybe not, but…I don’t really have a soul, not a functioning one anyways. It’s…fractured, cracked, broken, frayed, whatever word you want to use, at the end of the day, it’s effectively useless. And I should’ve died because of it. People with broken souls don’t live very long,” he said, sighing deeply. “But Emily had enough soul for the both of us. Even though I was weak and sickly and frail…I kept going, even though the most I could do was stay inside, read and draw, make friends with the characters in storybooks.”

As the words faded from his lips, he fell silent for a long time, the two of them sitting in silence that stretched and pulled between them not with tension or awkwardness but a sorrow that there are no words to comfort. Witch said nothing but kept her hand on his shoulder, not giving gentle pats or reassuring rubs but just letting him know that she was there. That despite everything in this place, he was not alone.

“And then it was her turn to get sick,” he finally said, eyes cast down into his lap. “Except she only got worse, withering away in front of our eyes.”

“Cancer?” 

“Cancer,” he replied with a slow nod, tightening his grip on his sister’s hand. “One that…had no cure, had no treatment, just a slow agonizing death sentence.” He paused again, his breaths labored and deep within his stomach. “Emily once told me that a woman in a red dress came to her one night, offering to fix everything if she would just…hand over her soul. She refused the offer as you can see, but it gave her an idea. She instead…gave her soul to me, told me to live a full life, the life that she wouldn’t get to live if she took the soul with her.” 

“Did she know what would happen to her?” Witch asked, looking at the girl with more careful eyes. As beautiful and at peace she appeared to be, there was no movement, no twitching, no semblance of even a spark of life present within her. There was just a shell, a shell with memories that barely belonged to them and sight that registered nothing. 

“She knew,” he sighed, slowly nodding his head. “She knew she would never be able to pass on, existing but never able to interact with…anything or anyone for the rest of time. And she also knew that if she died, the same would happen to me. I tried to stop her, I begged and pleaded and protested, I didn’t want this, it was her life I was using, I was okay with dying…” His free hand balled into a fist, his eyes burning with regret and shame and aching pain, only for his shoulders to slump in defeat. “…but it wasn’t my choice, in the end.” 

“It rarely ever is when it comes to things like that,” Witch said softly, the words low and slow, filled with their own memories as little bubbles of times long since past floated to the forefront of her mind. 

As if handling the most delicate of plants, he placed Emily’s hand back onto her stomach and bowed his head. “Yet…it was my choice to take up the Murder God’s offer. I give Her my loyalty and Emily can rest, rest while I figure out some way to make a soul for her, find some way to make this right,” he finished, curling his knees to his chest and sighing, finally looking to Witch with doubts swirling in his irises. “All that effort to give me a chance at life and I do this. What does that say about me?” 

Witch smiled and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “You’ve got a good heart, Young Priest,” she replied. “A good gentle heart that wants to do the right thing. Try and keep it that way for as long as you can. The rest of us don’t really need our humanity anymore. You, that’s a different story.” 

Young Priest slowly nodded his head, eyes flickering between his coworker and the moonflower in his sister’s hand. She could almost see the gears turning in his head, a fight between burning curiosity and general politeness. “Witch…may I ask you something?”

“Of course, I’m all ears.” 

“Pardon me for saying this, but…in what I’ve read about your origins as the Witch of the Murder God and, well…something doesn’t add up,” he said, choosing his words with care and thinking for just a split second before continuing on. “In every account I have read, it almost reads as if…you being here is a punishment for cheating the Murder God. I might’ve not understood this correctly but…well…” His eyes flickered up towards the strings overhead. 

“If that were true, I should be tangled up there instead of becoming one of her Chosen Few?” she asked, pointing a thumb up at some of the suspended bodies barely made out in the distance. 

He nodded slowly in agreement. “Well…essentially yes, that was my assumption.” 

Witch leaned back on her hands, gazing up at the endless strings woven overhead. The kid had given his own story. Fair was fair. “The stories in those accounts are going to be skewed from the beginning. They’re myths, they’re legends, things get lost over time or become embellished or selectively forgotten,” she began, tilting her head back and forth as she spoke. “I’m no different. You know how it goes. I cheated the Murder God out of my death and became her Witch instead of being tortured for all of eternity. The way it’s written now shows both a desperate woman fighting to stay alive and an evil one who only thought to save her own skin. Both sides serve a purpose.” 

“Even so, neither one sounds exactly true,” Young Priest added. “Not to mention there’s no inclusion of the deal you made at all.” 

“You’re right, there isn’t,” Witch said with a nod. “That’s maybe intentional. And you’re very right, if I actually had cheated the Captain, I wouldn’t be here. That’s just a fact.” 

“So…what actually happened?” 

“Do you really want to know?” she asked, her dark brown eyes meeting his ocean blue. 

There was a long pause, the silence powerful and ancient between them. 

“If you don’t mind telling it, then yes,” he replied, sitting back against the strings, this time more turned towards her. 

Witch smiled and turned towards him as well, leaning against a weaving and twirling a string between her finger tips. “Well, where to start…actually, that’s pretty easy,” she said, tapping her chin ever so slightly. “You see, Young Priest, every myth and legend has a grain of truth somewhere. I cheated the Murder God out of… _my_ death. But the correct number of people still died in the game.” 

His brow furrowed. “But…that’s…that would mean there were eleven people playing…were the records wrong?” 

“Nope, there were ten of us who agreed to shelter for a few days in the strange town, taking on any responsibility for what might happen in the confusion of a war zone,” she said, her smile still calm and oddly cheerful. “Ten players, maybe. But eleven people.”

Witch could see the gears in his head turning faster and faster, his eyes darting back and forth with the possibilities and trying to make sense of the vague words that had slipped past his ears. “Eleven people…but only ten players, but that makes no sense, why would she exempt anyone from the games, not even children get excluded…unless…”

His eyes shot wide.

“Witch…were you… _pregnant_?” 

A smile curled onto her lips. 

“Let me tell you a story, Young Priest. Let me tell you _my _story.”__


	7. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story of the Witch.

_“Oh gods…oh gods…nonononono.”_

_“Keep your voice down, someone’s going to hear you.”_

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_“Oh gods, oh gods she got you, those things got you. How…how are you still alive?”_

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_“One of my father’s recipes. Helps…staunch bloodflow.”_

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_“Your stomach…oh…oh dear gods no…please don’t tell m-”_

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_“Get them out. As soon as dawn breaks, take…take the others and run. You have to get out of here. Now. I’ll deal with her.”_

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_“I am not leaving you here.”_

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_“You don’t have a choice. Even if I could move, she’s going to think I cheated her, do you really think I’m getting out of this alive?”_

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_"You are if I have any say about it.”_

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_“This isn’t your decision to make.”_

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_“I promised I’d stay by your side.”_

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_“Then the engagement’s off."_

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_“Don’t you do this.”_

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_“I’m not binding you to a doomed woman.”_

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_“You don’t know that.”_

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_“Get everyone, get as far away from here as you can, and do not come back for me.”_

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_“Does my promise mean nothing to you?”_

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_“You think I want to break this? I have no other choice. I’m not letting you die here.”_

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_“Neither am I.”_

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_“Use your head for once instead of your heart.”_

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_“I love you.”_

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_“Love can’t save me.”_

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_“…please.”_

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_“…I’m sorry.”_

* * *

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_Burning flames and crimson red filled her vision as the Murder God stormed pass the empty huts and quiet village center. Her wolf was dead, the game was won, the survivors no doubt took off the second there was sunlight to spare, but there was one soul missing from her intended line up. That woman, the medicine man’s daughter who was so obviously in love with that pitiful carpenter. Maybe it was poor form to influence the wolves with her own ideas, but the story it would’ve made: the heartbroken wanting vengeance for his young fiance’s death, doing everything in his power to make a horrific wrong right. That, that was too tempting to pass up._

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_She was supposed to be dead. She was supposed to have DIED. And yet, her soul wasn’t in Priestess’s hands._

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_That little bitch had cheated the game._

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_She had ruined the story._

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_Cheaters had to pay._

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_Throwing open the door to one of the huts and screaming out with a passionate fury, the Murder God’s voice suddenly stopped short, her rage twisting into a rather pleased grin. The young woman in question sat on a low bed, head bowed and clutching the bloody remains of a blanket to her stomach. Her breath was labored, sweat dripped down her pretty little face, her little cries and whimpers music to the god’s ears as the woman shakily turned towards the now open door. So. It seemed that not everyone had fled after all._

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_"Ah, there you are, you sorry excuse for a folk healer,” the Murder God seethed, slamming the door behind her with a bang that echoed pass the remaining buildings. “Thought you could get away with saving yourself and telling everyone else to run, hm?”_

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_“I’m…I’m sorry,” she whispered, noticeably swallowing down a shiver. “I…I meant no disrespect, my lady.”_

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_“Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you went and cheated me out of your death,” the Murder God replied, taking long slow steps to the bed and looking down at the rather pathetic mortal meat sack. “What do you have to say for that, Margaret, was it?”_

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_The woman averted her gaze, looking down at the blanket still tightly within her grasp. No tears fell from her eyes, or maybe it was more accurate to say all of them had dried up on her face. With a trembling hand, she peeled away the top layer of cloth, deep pain and sorrow flickering in her dark brown eyes. Laying there, still as a statue, quiet as the dead of night, covered head to toe in thick dried blood, was a baby just too small to have ever survived out of the comforting world of a mother’s womb._

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_“It wasn’t me I was trying to save, my lady,” she said, her words hollow and distant._

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_The Murder God cackled, clapping her hands together and letting the sound ring around the small room. “Oh, oh this is so much better of a story. Gotta hand it to, Margaret, that’s a straight up tragedy right there. A mother desperately trying to save the one person she probably loves more than the world itself and instead saves herself, miscarrying her little one in the process,” she said, her harsh laughter still filling the air. “What was it, then, a scandal marriage? Got yourself knocked up before the knot was tied?”_

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_“He was supposed to have been my second husband,” Margaret replied, this time with a touch more force than before. “My first was a soldier who died in this pointless war. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until he had already passed on.”_

__

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_“So both a widow and a witch, I’m not even sure why you tried for a second love, to be completely honest. That’s just asking for something to go wrong with the luck you seem to have,” the Murder God said, inspecting the child in the woman’s arms and smirking. “Well, I would say between the soul of that little one and this absolutely gut wrenching tale, that more than makes up for your transgression against me. Just leave the child here and you’re free to go and join what’s left of your village.” She gave a flippant wave to the young mother and turned back towards the door._

__

__

_“No.”_

__

__

_The Murder God paused, head craning back around. “What did you say?”_

__

__

_“No,” Margaret said, finally looking up and meeting the god’s gaze with an unflinching stare. “You don’t get her.”_

__

__

_“I don’t think you understand, Margaret, you don’t get a choice in the matter,” the Murder God said, feeling her eyes beginning to glow with a harsh red light._

__

__

_“You don’t get her,” she repeated, sitting up to more of her full height. The shakes and trembling from before were nowhere to be seen, a cold and dangerous light filling her eyes and her voice. “You get me. She’s a child, she’s an innocent. The others agreed to take on whatever might happen here, she never got a voice of her own.”_

__

__

_With a slow and deliberate turn, the Murder God faced the woman again, her grin only widening. Now this…this was an interesting turn of events. “Hm…I’ll admit, this does make for an interesting twist to this story,” she said, stepping closer to the woman and looking down into her eyes. “Alright then, Margaret, what did you have in mind?”_

__

__

_“Give her a second chance at a normal life, the one she was supposed to have, and I’ll give you anything you want.” Her tone was even, her back was straight, her body in a calm and burning anger that was slowly consuming every last piece of her broken body. “I’ll recruit for you, I’ll kill for you, I’ll give you voice and hands, my life, my soul, whatever you ask of me. But I will not give a bitch like you my daughter.”_

__

__

_The Murder God narrowed her eyes, letting all six flash with a deep red as her mouth curled into a sneer. Wood snapped, cloth tore, and stone cracked as the world around them boke and reality was strained to its utmost limits. With a snap of her fingers, a slender dagger appeared in hand, black and not belonging to this world or any world. Shrieking with a voice that warbled and could drive men to insanity, she jabbed at the woman, stopping just short of driving the magical weapon into her throat._

__

__

_Even still, the woman did not flinch, did not move, did not waver from her seat._

__

__

_And just as soon as everything broke, it was whole once more, save for the dagger still at the young healer’s throat. “Anything I want?”_

__

__

_Her gaze held firm. “Anything.”_

__

__

_“Even if I give you a fate worse than death?”_

__

__

_“Nothing you could do to me could hurt worse than when your actions tore my child out of my body.”_

__

__

_Any semblance of the earlier rage vanished from the Murder God's face, her lips twisting into her normal smirk. “As much fun as it would be to mess with your soul a little more and put you through a couple more games, you are a wonderful player, I think you’d be…more useful doing something else,” the Murder God said, withdrawing the dagger and having it vanish into the shadows behind her. “So I think…I’ll ask for your loyalty.”_

__

__

_The woman’s face contorted ever so slightly, her arms instinctively wrapping tighter around the child. “My…loyalty?”_

__

__

“ _You really think you’re the first person to ever try that trick?” the Murder God asked, walking over and picking up the little bowl with the dredges of a strange smelling liquid. “Dozens of alchemists and healers and witch doctors who’ve played have had similar thoughts. You know, mix a couple things together in case something really goes wrong and maybe they can get away with their lives.” She sniffed the contents and smirked again. “Some of them are a bit more talented than the others, and I like keeping them around if I can. They’re useful, better with humans than the rest of my Followers tend to be, though they’re usually really bad at staying alive when I want to make them immortal. Humans are so fragile, you know.”_

__

__

_“What…exactly are you asking of me, my lady?” Margaret asked, the facade of confidence dropping for just a second before she snapped back to composure._

__

__

_The Murder God set the bowl down and turned back to the woman, offering one hand out to her. “It’s very simple, really,” she replied, smiling. “I want you to be my Witch.”_

__

__

_Margaret took in a pained breath, looking first to the child in her hands, then back up to the god. Stillness pulled at the air in the room, the world outside blind to whatever might be happening in the little hut, but the world inside fixated on the two women and the decision being made, waiting for anything at all to happen. Taking one hand, she lifted it from the child and once again locked gazes with the god. “And if I do this, you’ll give her a second chance at life?”_

__

__

_“I’ll even give you the opportunity to raise her if you want,” the Murder God replied._

__

__

_With a speed that not even the god was anticipating, Margaret grabbed the offered hand, her delicate fingers gripping tightly around the wrist as opposed to the palm._

__

__

_The Murder God smiled, her own fingers curling around Margaret’s minuscule wrist, nails digging into the flesh. “Do you promise your loyalty to me, Margaret Touchstone?”_

__

__

_She glared with an intensity only a mother wronged could ever hope to give._

__

__

_“I promise.”_


	8. Little Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Witch's origin having been brought to light, what other secrets are hiding within the strings?

Silence hung in the air between the two Followers, Young Priest struggling to find a string of words that didn’t sound horrifically insensitive or mind numbingly hollow. Was there even a proper way to respond to your coworker miscarrying due to the actions of your boss and then selling her soul to keep said miscarried child’s soul out of said boss’s clutches? Of all the things that had happened thus far, this was perhaps the most…confusing? Concerning? Messed up? 

This was not the first time he had been at a loss for words with his new associates, and he had a deep suspicion that this was only the tip of this ghastly iceberg. 

“I’m…sorry?” he said with clear hesitation in his voice. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m…not exactly sure what a ‘good’ response to that is.” 

“Oh don’t worry, I don’t think there is one,” Witch said with a shrug of her shoulders. She began ticking off her fingers. “I’m sorry, that’s horrible, what the fuck, that’s messed up, I don’t know what else I was expecting…that’s what I usually get, anyways.”

“I just…” He looked down at his hands, awash in red from the still glowing flower. “I can’t imagine…going through something like that, losing someone that important to you, almost _dying_ , and still being loyal to…Her.”

Witch frowned ever so slightly, tapping her feet together for a moment or two before giving her answer. “As long as I’m Her loyal Witch, she’s safe. That’s all that matters.” A pause stretched between them, strangely comforting in such an enclosed space. “Not to mention they broke me pretty badly. I’m not sure if I could betray them even if I wanted to now.”

“I…oh…” Young Priest shifted in his seat ever so slightly, now incredibly aware of the strings around the two of them. “I…hadn’t really considered that She and the rest of them…” His words trailed off, fading into nonsensical gibberish and muffled noises. He had a feeling he really didn’t want to finish that sentence. 

She let out a slight giggle. “Oh don’t worry, I doubt we’re gonna need to break you,” she said, giving him a light tap on the shoulder and a wide smile. “You seem like a good kid. Certainly better behaved than I was. And you might wanna take a couple deep breaths. You look stiffer than a board right now.”

“If…you say so,” he said hesitantly, unsure if that was his response to her first or second comment. Likely both, all things considering. Leaning his back against the walls of string, he took a number of deep breaths. Though the void had no true air to speak of, the sheer act of breathing once more provided a bit of comfort. Slowly, the tension melted away from his muscles, and his arms dropped loosely to his sides. “That…does feel better, actually.” 

Witch gave him a warm smile. “I thought it would.”

Young Priest gave a half-hearted smile in return. He could feel his curiosity poking at the back of his brain once again, urging him to ask about a thousand questions that he still wasn’t sure were especially appropriate. Then again, of this motley group, Witch also seemed to be at least willing to talk with him. “So…you had a daughter, then?”

“Have, actually,” Witch replied, her words coming fast and bright.

That made Young Priest almost bolt upright once more. “ _...have?_ ” 

She nodded her head, smiling with a new light in her eyes. It was…soft, caring, proud, motherly even. “Yup. My little girl’s still alive and kicking.”

“But I thought…you’re from the Roman empire, and before the common era at that,” he slowly replied, feeling the gears once again turning in his head. “Wasn’t your deal to give her a second chance at life and to raise her into a normal person?”

“Well, yes, and no,” Witch said with a giggle, sitting back on her hands. “The Captain wanted to make sure that I was fit to be witch material before she ever thought of bringing my girl back to life. Then there was a whole thing with refining the process of making people immortal and getting the Void set up for the games and switching everything over and getting new people and running my shop. I kind of didn’t have the time for a long while.”

Young Priest glanced around the web, furrowing his brow ever so slightly. “Then…where is she now?”

“1920s Boston, if I’m remembering how much time has passed correctly,” Witch said, tapping her shoes together once more. “I wanted to find someplace nice for her, somewhere busy and inconspicuous enough for a single mom and child to live and not be questioned too much about where they came from. ”

The pieces were slowly beginning to come together, though Young Priest still felt as if he was trying to put a puzzle with perhaps only an inkling of what the image was supposed to look like. “But then…you would’ve been gone from your work here for…years then.” 

She giggled once again. “Time…kind of doesn’t matter here. I can spends years in here doing work for the Captain and it’ll only be a couple hours at most in her timeline,” Witch said, sitting up and laying her back against a small cluster of strings. “Same thing goes when I’m in her world. I could be gone for months on end and it would only be a matter of minutes here.”

“I…I see,” Young Priest said, feeling as if his brain was short circuiting. Not from the lack of logic; that had been thrown out the window once Murder Gods and reality bending came into play. No, this was more from the sheer bombardment of information that had been thrown his way in the past couple…minutes? Hours? He really needed to stop thinking of things in terms of distinct units of time. “What’s her name?”

“Everyone here calls her Gale.”

“So they do know.”

There was a long, dramatic sigh on Witch’s part. “For better or for worse, yes, everyone knows and has met them,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I tried to avoid telling them, keep her away from their influence. It…went about as well as expected.”

Young Priest gave a slow nod. “Do they…like her?”

“Well, they all look after her,” Witch replied, tilting her head to the side. “They know she’s part of my deal and that she needs to be protected because of that. _She_ loves all of them. Calls them auntie and uncle.” Witch chuckled ever so slightly at that. “Some of them really like her, like Huntress and Part Timer. Others of them…well, I don’t think anyone actually hates her. Though Lieutenant's no longer allowed to meet with her one on one.”

Without warning, an eye popped into the space above Emily’s sleeping body, ice blue and looking the two of them over with an unblinking gaze. Young Priest just about jumped out of his skin, though decided not to react too visibly when he noticed Witch hardly batting an eye. 

Lieutenant’s disembodied voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere somehow, wiggling into Young Priest’s ears and making chills run down his spine. “That was not my fault.”

“You dropped her in a dimension full of spiders!” Witch nearly shrieked, jumping to her feet and pointing an accusing finger at the eye.

“And she survived.”

“She was _seven._ ”

“Your Little Wind has strength, Witch,” Lieutenant replied, his tone rather flat but not especially accusatory. “She was in no real danger and proved herself competent.”

“She was a _child._ ” 

“And your point is what exactly?”

“You don’t drop kids into dimensions with acid spitting spiders!”

“You realize she befriended them, yes?”

“ _That’s not the point._ ”

Young Priest tentatively glanced between the young woman and the floating eye of his technical leader, deciding that it was probably best to not get involved in the affairs of two people far older than he could fathom. Not to mention he had a feeling this exactly conversation had happened a great many times before.

Scowling ever so slightly, Witch crossed her legs and plopped back down onto the carpet of strings. She huffed and gave a long glare to the floating eye, eyebrows furrowed and her own eyes narrowed, before shooting a glance to Young Priest. “So yeah, things like that combined with That Game, he no longer gets to visit her alone.”

The eye vanished. Not a moment later, the woven strings above them unraveled to reveal Lieutenant sitting there, looking down at the two with a neutral expression on his face. “Now that was actually not my fault.”

Witch didn’t so much as look up, keeping her gaze focused on whatever was immediately in front of her. “I don’t care if it wasn’t your fault, you knew better.”

Young Priest looked to Witch. “Do I want to kno-”

“No.” Her gaze was hard enough to turn mortals to stone.

“Duly noted then,” he slowly replied, glancing between his two coworkers. Perhaps this would be a good time to change the subject. “What is she like? She certainly sounds…curious and strong.”

“Oh Gale’s wonderful,” Witch said, her eyes brightening almost immediately. “She is smart, kind hearted, so curious, determined, adventurous.”

“Not unlike her mother,” Lieutenant said with a slight smirk. “Though, admittedly, before her transformation.”

Witch flushed a touch red at the comment, though she continued speaking. “She even took up a little of what I do, though certainly more on the…helpful side as opposed to harmful. She makes soaps, lotions, small remedies…I’m very proud of my little girl, even if she isn’t that little anymore.”

Young Priest raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Lieutenant flapped his wings once. “She now has two offspring of her own.” 

“Oh, then, congrats on becoming a grandmother, Witch” Young Priest said, giving a genuine smile as he turned his hands over. A small ball of pale blue light slowly began to grow until a small moonflower rested in his palms. He carefully held it out for Witch to take. “Here, I want you to give this to her.”

Witch gave him a smile back. “Why don’t you give it to her yourself? I’m sure she’d love to meet you,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Why don’t you come with me the next time I visit her?”

“Are…are you sure?” he replied, glancing up at Lieutenant with a hesitant glance. “That seems…I don’t know…a bit risky on your end, seeing as I’m so new.”

“Witch knows how to keep trial recruits in line.” The words were not laced with malice or any ill intent, though they still sent a shiver up his spine. 

“Then…I suppose I would be happy to…come along,” he said, giving a slow nod.

“Great!” Witch leapt to her feet and quickly dragged him upright. “I’ll let you know when we’re going. For now, we should probably get back to getting you training.”

“Ah, yes, right…” Young Priest said, giving a small glance to his sister’s still sleeping form. As he did so, a small memory from his earlier journey rushed back to the forefront of his mind. “Oh, um, before we go…Witch, Lieutenant, I…saw something today.”

“What was it?” Lieutenant asked, vanishing from the top of the enclosure and appearing just outside the little nest of strings. The strings overhead slowly knit themselves together.

“It was…a younger woman with mousy brown hair and gray eyes, rather old clothes...” he said, fidgeting a little with the flower in his hands. “She…looked a bit like a ghost, kept flickering in and out of reality, and the strings seemed to not…catch her, I suppose is the right word. Do you know anything about that?”

The two immortals shared a quick glance, a glimmer of recognition flashing in their eyes.

“Is…something wrong?” Young Priest asked.

Witch gave a small smile, though one that seemed ever so conflicted, as if there was much to the story that she was not telling. “Well, Young Priest…it seems you’ve already met my daughter...and it looks like she’s learned a thing or two about astral projection.” 

He had a distinct feeling that this wasn’t exactly a good thing.


	9. A Moment of Fancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A teaching moment from the Old Guard.

Clicking footsteps echoed down the hallways, each step creating a new set of barely visible sound waves that raced from their point of origin towards the walls. As each crest hit a new surface, they marbled and warped in a thousand shades of colors that barely existed, folding over each other and spinning in dizzying circles. Before long, the floor had melted into where the ceiling had originally been, the walls vaguely still existing in theory more so than in practical application. A door was at the end (or was it the beginning?) of the hallway, upside down and made out of substance that had been known to spontaneously combust, turn people into lightwaves on sight, or play an endless loop of classic rock depending on the air temperature and general mood of whomever was looking at it. 

A bit impractical on occasion, perhaps, but a rather good deterrent for thieves.

Advisor gestured with two fingers, the air crackling with static electricity as he began mentally flipping switches. For this specific intersection, he needed contentment with a dosage of curiosity, excitement, caution, and a dash of mild annoyance. The synapses along his nerve endings fired in rapid succession, certain emotions flickering offline as others sprung to life, the cocktail of chemicals and mental processes combining into something that could mirror mortal understandings of feelings. A slight smile dashed across his face as the door swung open without assistance. Satisfied, he stepped up and into the door.

Walking along a small bridge, he glanced up (or perhaps down) into a sea of stairwells criss crossing in directions that should not exist in three dimensional space. With precisely timed hops, he bounded from one staircase to another, the world shifting and sliding so that he was always upright. Before long, he had reached the area opposite the initial bridge. He clapped his hands and the surface of disputable use opened up on a well furnished parlor, complete with a number of chairs arranged near a fire. In those chairs were the familiar signatures of Old Priestess, Lieutenant, and the new young Priest, gathered around a pot of tea and a plate of cookies.

“Ah, it seems you’ve already made yourselves at home, I see,” Advisor said, floating down from the ceiling and landing with the lightest of touches onto the tile floor of the antechamber. His coat billowed, caught in some wind that certainly was not blowing in this general realm of existence. “I do hope you saved me _something_ to drink.”

Old Priestess chuckled ever so slightly, sitting up in her seat and pouring an additional mug. “Do you really think I would forget to make enough tea for everyone?” she asked, the question sounding far too innocent coming from her mouth.

“With all do respect, yes, I do,” Advisor said with a slight smirk, waving the cup into his hand. He took a small sip, letting the various spices roll across his tongue. Almost certainly chai, and a rather good blend. Though Priestess had many…faults, her ability to make tea was not one of them. 

“You doubt my good intentions and will?” she asked, dramatically placing one hand to her chest and the other to her forehead as if aghast. “I am deeply offended, sir.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Advisor said with a slight eye roll, glancing over to the ever so slightly confused form of Lieutenant. He gave a slight nod. “Lieutenant.”

“Advisor,” he replied with the same respectful curtness. Given that such things as ‘self imposed veils’ meant little to Advisor, he could see the hundreds if not thousands of eyes that made up the true form of Lieutenant, each one attuned to a different section of the room and unblinking. However, his shell’s attention was clearly more focused on the cup of tea in his hand than anything else at the moment. “There is…cinnamon in this?” 

“Very good, dearest, that’s one of the ingredients,” Old Priestess said with a nod of her head. Taking her own mug, she leaned back ever so slightly in her seat. “There’s also clove, ginger, cardamon, and I personally prefer a dash of chilli for the aroma.”

“It is a…pleasant taste?” he said with a touch of uncertainty, taking another uncertain sip. “Strong and yet…flavorful?” 

“All excellent descriptors.” Her glass covered eyes moved towards Young Priest. “We’ve been trying to teach him about taste for the past century or so. For a being who’s had to construct taste sensors out of nothing, he’s made absolutely wonderful progress.”

“That’s…good to hear?” Young Priest replied, trying to make himself as scarce as possible in the chair that ever so carefully contorted to be exactly fit for his height and build. He adjusted his glasses ever so slightly, glancing up to Advisor with an expression that was somewhere between ‘this was not what I was expecting from servants of a semi-literal devil’ and ‘please someone save me from the world’s most awkward tea party’. His eyes landed on the ceiling, any color in his face rapidly draining away. “Wha… how…what is _that?_ Where _are_ we?” 

“That’s right, I suppose you’ve never been here before,” Advisor said, setting his teacup floating above the table. He gave a small bow with a hand flourish, the ceiling above them closing up to reveal a tasteful abstract mural. “I welcome to the Labyrinth. This is…well, ‘my domain’ might be the best word to describe it. It’s a…small extension, shall we say, of the realm I call home.”

Young Priest’s eyes were still glued to the ceiling, slack jawed and muscles still as a statue. “Oh…right…you’re a bit like the Captain or Lieutenant…you’re from…somewhere else,” he said with haltering words, the logical short circuit tangible on his face. 

“Yes, but I happen to be an ‘abysswalker’ as opposed to a ‘void denizen’,” Advisor said with a slight chuckle, slowly lowering the cup to the table and stretching his back out. “A realm where ‘mortal’ understandings of logic and reality don’t…apply well, let’s go with that.” A slight smile stretched across his face as he gave a sharp clap of his hands. “But, explaining the Abyss can wait for another day. We should get started on your lesson.”

The clap snapped Young Priest out of his stunned stupor. He gave a few rapid blinks and shakes of the head, taking his teacup and setting it down onto the table. “Er…I’m guessing more reality bending today?”

A low chuckle escaped from Old Priestess’s lips. “Not exactly,” she replied, taking a sip of her tea and leaning back into the chair. “You’ve learned quick, and making and manipulating scenery is considerably easier to do in the Void than in the physical realm. More energy to draw on, less physical laws to obey. No, we’re taking a break from that and doing something a bit more practical.”

“Then…what’s the Old Guard doing here?” 

Perhaps unconsciously, Advisor’s lips curled into a slight smile, one that was mirrored in the faces of the other two non-humans. The Old Guard, the three who never had and never would be mortal. Though a touch inaccurate and horrendously outdated, there was something to be said about being recognized as part of a…slightly more special portion of their little murderous group. “Call it a…necessary precaution,” Advisor said, walking around the set of chairs and over towards a vase, pretending to inspect it with some measure of curiosity. 

“Now, Young Priest, to be quite frank, any of us could kill you where you stood without batting an eye” Old Priestess said, setting her cup of tea onto a saucer and opening her eyes into narrow slits. “It would be incredibly easy for, say, me to rip out your throat, Advisor to break you down into atoms, or my dearest Lieutenant to simply strike you where you stood.”

Advisor swore that he could see the individual beads of sweat begin to fall from Young Priest’s face.

“You have good skills, but there’s realistically nothing you have in your arsenal that could hope to incapacitate someone human, much less someone with access to magic of our caliber,” Old Priestess continued, placing cup and saucer onto the table before folding her hands into her lap. “As your physical skills are not yet up to par, we thought it time to teach you some defensive magics. Of course, these skills are meant to be used against other people, so we’re all here just to make sure that you’re going to be using them…properly…” Her eyes flared a deep gold. 

Lieutenant's cold gaze simply spoke for itself.

“That’s…understandable, given what I’ve heard happened…last time,” Young Priest said with a nod of his head and a nervous swallow. 

An unamused smile crossed her face as she adjusted her glasses and once again closed her eyes, though not before shooting a quick glance towards the owner of the labyrinth. “Excellent. Tell me, with your magical skills, what do you suppose the best way for someone like you to incapacitate an enemy?”

Chuckling ever so slightly under his breath, Advisor set down the little potted plant he had been observing from every conceivable angle (and quite a few inconceivable angles as well). The moment of truth. Weaving air molecules between his fingers, Advisor spun a thin web of air around his body until he was just floating off the ground. With silent footsteps and deliberately slow movements, he made his way back to the seated group, always just out of sight of the youngest one in the room.

Young Priest opened his mouth to answer, then hesitantly closed it, the gear turning nearly palpable in his eyes. “I mean…I would assume something nature based…or something that bends reality, given that I’m, well, ‘the gardener’,” Young Priest said, using his fingers to make a number of air quotes. 

“Wrong,” Old Priestess said, giving a small gesture with her hand.

Advisor’s hand shot out from behind his back, two fingers just gracing the top of Young Priest’s rusty red hair. Flipping through the eons of knowledge at his disposal, he grabbed bits and pieces of photographed memory and pieced them together into a puzzle with an infinite number of solutions. Another portion of his brain began sifting through memories that were not his own, fewer in number and rather fuzzy around the edges, as was often common with mortal minds. He grabbed just enough of those passing feelings and fragments of the past to construct something remotely believable and carefully inserted them into the matrix spinning in his conscious. Just as the image began to take form, he snapped his fingers and transferred the miniature world into Young Priest’s mind.

Given that whole process took maybe a couple of milliseconds, Young Priest barely had enough to register fingers on the top of his head before his eyes glazed over. He slumped back in his seat, dazed expression written across his face, muscles limp and his gaze somewhere none of them could see. 

Without bothering to actually use his shell's legs and walk like a normal person, Lieutenant vanished from the sofa and reappeared next to Young Priest’s chair. He gave the effectively unconscious body a number of quick taps before giving a nod of approval. “He is certainly immobilized. Are you controlling it or is his unconscious powering the vision?” he asked, a number of his hidden eyes focusing both on the bespelled Priest and the Abysswalker.

Advisor shook his head, curly white hair bouncing in every direction it could (and a number of directions that it definitely should not have). “I suppose it’s a bit of both. While I certainly can influence minds if need be, I can’t say that it’s my explicit area of expertise,” he replied, waving his free hand and making a holographic image appear in his palm. “The most I can do for something of this caliber is build up the basic structure and _hope_ the mind takes over enough to maintain the illusion.”

A nod, though whether he actually ‘understood’ was a bit more up for debate. He made a small motion to his two fingers. “What would happen if you were to remove that point of contact?” 

“This, of course,” Advisor replied, lifting them with a quick spin of his wrist. 

The moment his fingertips left contact with the red hair follicles, Young Priest jolted upright and clutched at the armrests of his chair, eyes wildly darting around the room. He took a couple of rapid inhales and exhales before leaning over and clutching at his head. 

“That’s also the problem with me using that technique,” Advisor said with a slight frown, walking over to a small cupboard and pulling open one of the drawers. He stuck his arm in, rummaging between a seemingly endless number of knick knacks and baubles in that small extra-dimensional space (he really needed to clean out his junk drawer), before pulling out a small bottle of what sanding sugar would look like if it could exist in six dimensions at once. “The things I end up creating in those ‘visions’ tend to…not play well with mortal minds. Or recently turned mortal minds, it seems.”

Unfazed by the scene, Old Priestess simply poured another round of tea for everyone. “Your magics are less about making alternative realities as they are about making _believable_ realities,” she said, sipping at the freshly poured chai. She dunked one of the cookies into the brew and popped it into her mouth. “For someone like you, who has grown up learning and operating with a mortal mind, it is far easier to bend someone’s mind than it is to bend reality itself.”

“You…want me to trap people…inside their own _heads?_ ” Young Priest said between gasps, fingers wrapping further into his hair as he winced with pain. “That’s…I can’t do something like _that._ ”

“Why not?” Advisor said, crossing the room in too few strides and dumping the six dimensional sanding sugar into Young Priest’s cup of tea. “Manipulating the thoughts and sensory organs of a creature is far easier than manipulating the fabric of space time. It does take some measure of finesse, perhaps, but with your artistic mind, I don’t see it being particularly difficult.” 

With a couple of pulls at the air, the cup and saucer slowly floated into the air and hovered just in front of the rather pained young man. He felt a twinge of empathy, feeling the individual release of chemicals and firing of neurons mistaking the pain of someone else for his own. A rather useful emotion to process and have on hand should the need arise, though perhaps not the most useful in this exact scenario. Running through the neurons once again, he flipped a number of them on and off until he was sure that the emotion was temporarily disabled.

“The point isn’t whether or not I _can_ do it,” Young Priest said, shakily taking the cup of tea and sipping at its contents. The relief washed over his body within a matter of seconds, though the mixture of disgust and rattled nerves remained. “...it’s a matter of…well…” He trailed off, deciding to continue sipping his tea instead.

“Dear, if your next word was going to be ‘ethics’ or ‘morality’, you may want to remember where we are and who you’re serving,” Old Priestess said, her tone dangerously low. Then, as if there had been nothing wrong at all, her face brightened. She made a flippant gesture with her hand. “Besides, you only have to use it in self defense for now if it really bothers you. I mean, it’s not like you’re killing them. You’re just…incapacitating them until you can get to safety. It’s not like you’re powerful enough to keep one going indefinitely just yet.”

“That…is true, I suppose,” Young Priest said, each word coming out with a heavy heaping of hesitation. He downed the rest of his tea, staring into the leaves at the bottom for a rather long stretch of time. Muttered nonsensical words tumbled from his lips, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought over the matter for some time. Advisor could see the thoughts tumbling through his head, jumbled and jumping down a great many paths, personal morals colliding with the duty he was meant to uphold. Of the paths, however, one particular one stuck out beyond the rest: a curiosity, strong and vibrant, pushing him along and nudging at the corners of this one’s mind.

The mind of mortals were fascinating things. Complicated, illogical, and rather imperfect machines, all things considered, but fascinating nonetheless. 

“So…assuming that I did know how to give someone a personalized hallucination that I could control and manipulate to effectively trap them inside their own head, how would I test it?” he asked, eyes flickering between the gathered ‘had never been humans’. “Because I’m making the assumption that trying to do that to any of you would…end very badly.” 

“It would,” Lieutenant said with a matter of fact tone, popping his wrist out and summoning his dagger into his hand. “Your mind would break under the stress.” With one fluid strike, he slashed into the ‘air’ itself, the two dimensional dagger splitting three dimensional space and separating the fabric between The Space Between and The Worlds of Matter. A tear opened up along the slash, a crude but highly effective portal. That done, he hopped back to Old Priestess’s side, offering her his arm.

“Why thank you, dearest,” her sweet voice falling on the universe's deafest ears. She glanced to Young Priest and Advisor, a placid smile stretching across her face. “Come now, why don’t we put this little theory to test?”

Wordlessly, Young Priest rose from his seat and stepped through the tear in reality. Advisor followed closely behind, stepping from his little sanctum and out into a well hidden section of a park. It was a calm day, the air filled mostly with the sound of birds and the light blowing of the wind through well manicured trees. The sounds of people going about their business were far off, rather sparse for a summer’s afternoon.

Lieutenant and Old Priestess stepped through the portal, the tear sealing behind them as they set foot onto the ground. With the same care, the voidling’s wings vanished from view, leaving the four of them still rather out of place compared to everyone around them, but decidedly _more_ in place than they had been a couple of seconds ago. 

Advisor stretched his arms in front of his body, flaring his wrists ever so slightly before turning to his pupil for the day. “Now, I can’t help you on the specifics as much as I’d like, given my method of mental manipulation tends to work better on much larger scales, but I can explain the theoretical processes,” he began, pointing to a random human out in the crowd. “Your intent and will are going to be the driving force in this manner of ‘magic’. Should you want them to experience something wonderful or terrifying, frame it as a nudging suggestion they can’t resist or a demand, your goal is overwhelm their presence with your own.”

“Enchant them with your words or with the pictures you paint,” he muttered under his breath, nodding his head as he began turning his hands over and summoning a moonflower into his hands. “I’ve…heard a conduit can be…useful for beginners.” 

“A sharp mind indeed,” Advisor said with a light smile. “You can insert your own thoughts and ideas into whatever it is you create, give a…general idea of what you want them to see, but use their own minds as the fuel.” He paused for a moment. “And while I am not the best person to be saying this, subtlety is likely your best course of action for an effective…trap, shall we call it.” 

Breathing in deep, Young Priest glanced to Lieutenant and Old Priestess, both who had made their way to a nearby bench and were simply watching the conversation with intense stares. He let out the breath and closed his eyes, his fingers curling around the stem of the delicate flower. Advisor watched as bit by bit, soothing emotions and calming scenery suggestions filled the strange magical flora, laced with a bit of respite and kind regards. A beautiful trap, merciful even, one made by a person who really did not want to do harm.

Well, not yet, anyways.

Whether or not this one was capable of harm was still yet to be seen.

A minute or two later, the signature light blue glow faded until the flower in his hand looked no different than a simple white lily. Another twist of his hands and one flower became a bouquet, the trap lying in wait amongst the harmless. With one more hesitant glance to the Old Guard as a whole, he let out a breath and walked out beyond the trees. It wasn’t long before the young man ‘accidentally’ found enough cause to bump into a young woman and offer her a flower in apology. She took it with a smile, one that almost froze into place as her skin brushed up against the charmed lily. 

Advisor watched the thoughts in her head turn from a dull gray to vibrant oranges and yellows, the worries and cares of the working adult world fading to a summer’s day of hiking and swimming with loved ones and friends. A peaceful smile settled across her face just as Young Priest snatched the flower back and steadied the woman about to collapse onto her knees, apologizing and offering her a different one in return with shaking hands.

He didn’t need to see the pleased smile on Priestess’s face nor the approving smile of Lieutenant to know they were there.

“Well done,” Advisor said, clapping his hands together as Young Priest rejoined them. “An absolutely stellar first attempt. Granted, you also unintentionally picked an easy target, and you will have to get far quicker at those enchantments, but it was a success nonetheless.”

“I have to agree,” Old Priestess said, standing up from her bench and giving a polite clap with gloved hands. “I think this calls for a celebration. There’s an excellent little cafe down on 7th avenue that I have not been to in forever, a cute artsy place I think you’ll enjoy. My treat.”

“I…don’t get a choice in the matter, do I?”

“Nope!” she replied, hooking his arm under hers and practically dragging him away. Though nothing had been said between the two, Lieutenant was already at her other side, likely going to keep the Priestess company, keep her in line, or a combination or two. She gave a glance to Advisor over her shoulder. “Will you be joining us? We never do get to see you.” 

“As much as I enjoy recreational drug use in bitter liquid form, I have a number of unstable quantum modules that are vibrating in seventeen too many parallel universes at once,” Advisor said with a slight chuckle. “Perhaps another time, though. And, as always, you are always welcome to stop by. My door is always open…metaphorically speaking.”

With a dramatic bow, Advisor’s coat fluttered over his field of vision, whisking him away from the world of mortals and deep within his section of the Abyss.

A pupil of the Murder God acing test after test with flying colors, yet still possessing a streak of kindness that tried to aid as much as it was dong harm. Given everything he could potentially end up along the way, he was satisfied with the results for now.

Perhaps this one would turn out alright.


	10. Gale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting the Witch's daughter.

“Will that be all, Mrs. Albright?” the baker said, wrapping a number of cherry-filled pastries in a bit of parchment paper. The older man flashed a grin, his eyes darting to a much larger selection of breads and other baked goods. “Those grandkids of yours are still growing, you know. They’re probably eating your girl out of house and home, and while pastries are certainly tasty, I wouldn’t say they’re the most filling things in the world.”

Witch chuckled ever so slightly, reaching into her coin pouch and passing over an additional two dimes. “Alright, Scott, two extra loaves it is,” she said, sighing just dramatically enough to be believable. Her eternal youth and modern clothes were nowhere to be seen on these bustling city streets, instead replaced with gray-streaked hair, lines running down her cheeks, and an incredibly modest blouse and skirt. She adjusted her hat ever so slightly, pretending to be defeated. 

“Now see, there’s a sensible woman,” he replied with a snort, taking two fresh loaves and adding them to the pile. Quickly tallying up the change, he glanced over her shoulder and gave a slight nod. “Who’s the kid? Cousin or something?”

“Nephew, actually,” Witch said, picking up her purchases and deftly setting them into a cloth bag at her side. She gave a glance to Young Priest, standing outside the shop and trying his absolute hardest to not look out of place. Perhaps unintentionally, his normal outfit only needed some minor adjustments to blend in with the rest of the crowd. With a vest and a newspaper boy hat over a casual sweater, he might as well have been born in this time period. A calico cat weaved between his legs, eyes a strange piercing orange. “My sister married an Englishman, you see, and he’s come to visit for a spell. He’s a bit on the shy side, though, not a big one for talking.”

Scott nodded approvingly, scooping up the small pile of coins and dumping them into the cash register. “I’ll bet you a nickle those little ones will break him of that. Either that or you’ll use your ‘magic’ on him.”

“I don’t take losing bets,” she replied with a laugh, waving a hand and stepping out into the bustling city streets. “Take care, Scotty.” 

“Same to you, Catherine.”

A smile stretched across her face, calm and comforting instead of its normal chipperness. It was hard to say how much of her change in mood was an act. As far as anyone here was concerned, she was Catherine Albright, widow who refused to remarry despite having a young child to raise. Her title meant nothing here, though some of the young children would call her a ‘witch’ if only because she mixed herbs into sweet smelling soaps and tonics. Even so, there was no one who really took the accusations of witchcraft seriously. It’s not like anyone had seen her do actual magic.

Well, almost no one.

“Alright, that should be everything I need,” Witch said, giving Young Priest a tap on the shoulder. “Anything you want to get?”

He jolted ever so slightly, more so from the sudden touch than actual surprise. Quicker reflexes and wider eyes; he was learning to be more observant. Adjusting his glasses ever so slightly, he gave a shake of the head. “Not in particular…unless there’s a place I could buy a pocket watch or something,” he replied, tugging ever so slightly at his collar. “I’m just…taking it all in, I suppose.”

“Timeline hopping is probably one of the more confusing things to deal with,” Witch said with a chuckle, kneeling down and giving the calico cat a slight scratch around the ears. “Popping to different periods in time, dealing with problems across centuries, trying to remember what’s happened and what’s not. You get used to it eventually.”

“I have a feeling that’s going to be…quite a bit before that happens.” He gave a glance to the feline, shifting his stance ever so slightly. “Remind me why Huntress is a cat again?”

Witch smiled, standing back up and dusting off her long gray skirt. “She hates cities with a burning passion and hates dresses even more,” she replied, adjusting her cloth bag ever so slightly. “Being a cat at least solves the second problem.”

He blinked a number of times. “I don’t know what I was expecting for an answer, but I’m fairly sure it wasn’t that.”

Huntress simply purred in response.

“Either way, we should get going before people start giving us weirder than normal looks,” Witch said with a smile, turning on her heel and heading down the road. Her two companions followed suit, sticking close to her amid a sea of people. 

While foot traffic never truly ceased in city spaces, it was still early enough in the day that it was possible to comfortably walk between destinations. It wasn’t long before shopping centers and factories gave way to an increasing number of apartments and single family homes. The crowds of adults and motorcars thinned, replaced with children running in the streets and playing games. Eventually, even that dwindled down, leaving the three of them standing alone before a small house. 

Without hesitation, Witch walked up to the door and rapped three times. While she certainly didn’t need to wait at the door, there was something to be said about not intruding on her daughter’s home. Besides, she had company in tow. 

Quiet footsteps echoed from inside the house, delicate feet on wood. The door swung open, revealing a face that turned from mild confusion to ecstatic joy. She was neither short nor tall, kind gray eyes framed by mousy brown hair. With a bright smile and gentle gasp, she threw her arms around Witch, pulling her into a soft yet tight embrace. “Mom! What are you doing here?”

Witch smiled, giving her daughter a gentle pat on the back. “Seeing you, you silly thing,” she replied, standing on her toes and giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “I figured it was time to pay a visit. It’s been far too long on my end.”

Gale laughed ever so slightly, the sound a much more gentle reflection of her mother’s. “It’s been maybe a couple days here, you know.”

“I do, but it’s still good to see you again. Are the kids at school?”

“They left just about an hour ago,” she replied, her eyes darting to the cat weaving between her feet. She gave a smile and turned around just as the small cat was replaced with the muscled form of Huntress. “Aunt Diane! It’s been forever.”

“How you doing, kid?” Huntress said with a large grin, ruffling her hair and giving a quick one armed hug. “Good gods, you’ve gotten skinny. Have you been eating enough?”

“I’m just fine, auntie.”

“Yeah, I don’t buy that, I’m checking your pantry,” Huntress said, giving her a clap on the shoulder and disappearing into the house.

A light sigh and a caring laugh escaped her lips. She turned back to the group, her eyes now falling on Young Priest. For a brief moment, her smile slipped, a slight panic racing across her face, before it fell to a pleasant smile once again. “Oh, hello there.”

“It…might be more accurate to say hello again,” he replied, scratching the back of his head and glancing to Witch. “I…sort of had to tell them about your visit to the void.” 

“I figured as much,” she said with a slight wince and sigh. Her smile turned apologetic. “I’m rather sorry for running away. I didn’t realize you were one of my mom’s associates.” 

“And I’m sorry for startling you. I didn’t realize that you were…well…” He gave a general confused gesture to Witch.

At this, Gale let out a little laugh. “The daughter of the Witch?” she replied, stepping outside and holding out her hand. “I’m guessing you already know what they call me, but I’m Gale.”

“I’m the new Young Priest.” He gave a handshake and a friendly smile in return. 

Her eyes twinkled ever so slightly. “I think I’m going to call you Marcus.”

“You’re a lot…different than I expected,” he replied, tilting his head ever so slightly, though more in curiosity as opposed to confusion.

“So I’ve been told.” She broke the handshake, gesturing both inside the house. Loud clangs could be heard within, likely from Huntress’s rummaging through cupboards and closets. “Well, don’t just stand out here. Come on in. I’ll make a pot of tea.”

With a slight spring in her step, Witch crossed the threshold and stepped into the house. The living room had been turned into a modified storefront, hearty plants surrounding a small work table. Small shelves lined the walls, each supporting neat rows of bottles and jars with homemade labels. Gale lead the two of them down the hallway, weaving past a small collection of photos that Witch pointedly ignored. Young Priest glanced at each one of them, the smile on his face still present but his eyes focused on what he could gleam from these small photographs.

The three of them walked into a serviceable kitchen, small but painted a cheerful yellow. Dark wooden cupboards lined the upper sections of the walls, interspersed with watercolor prints on ceramic plates and the occasional framed photograph. Outside, planter boxes hung from each window, filled to the brim with various herbs and vegetables. 

“Already got the water boiling. You people are so loud, you know,” Huntress said, lounging in one of the kitchen chairs and pointing to the stove. 

“Thanks auntie,” Gale said with a smile, going to one of the cabinets and removing a small jar of tea. “Does raspberry work? If not, I think I have a nice green tea somewhere in here…”

Witch took a seat at the table, taking pastries and other baked goods from the bag and laying them on the table. “Both sound good to me,” she replied, placing a single cherry tart at each of the sitting places. Though there were four chairs at the table, from the lack of chipped paint, it was obvious one of those seats had not been occupied in some time. “I say pick whichever one you think goes best with cherries.”

“Oh mom, you didn’t have to do that,” Gale replied with a large smile, taking a measuring spoon and dumping a bit of both tea mixtures into a small bowl. “I can make those on my own, you know.”

“Of course I did, we have to celebrate,” Witch said with a smile of her own. “After all, you managed to figure out astral projection all on your own.”

Every muscle in Gale’s body tensed, guilt washing over her face as she began stirring the tea leaves together. “I know what you’re going to say, and I know it was dangerous, but I had to try something,” she said, her voice dropping down to a whisper. “And you always said that I was magically gifted in those kinds of arts, so I picked up a book from the local ‘occultist’ shop and practiced when I could. I…really wasn’t planning for it to work.”

“I’m not mad, Gale, I’m just worried,” Witch replied, folding her hands into her lap. “The Void is dangerous, especially the areas where She runs the games. Just because you don’t have a body doesn’t mean you weren’t in danger. You’re lucky something or someone else didn’t find you.”

“I know…” Gale said with a sigh. She opened up another cabinet and pulled out a tea set, dumping the tea leaves into a green teapot. “I’m…actually kind of surprised Uncle Oliver didn’t see me.” At this, she looked to Young Priest, seeming to remember that he was new to the room. “That’s what I call Lieutenant, like how I call Huntress ‘Aunt Diane’. I needed to call them something when I was little and the names sort of…stuck.”

Young Priest gave a nod in understanding. “What were you doing there, if you don’t mind me asking?”

All three women exchanged uneasy glances. Witch gave a very slight head shake, her eyes locked onto her daughter’s gaze. No words were needed to say what was on her mind. 

With the conformational look, Gale simply sighed and poured the almost boiling water into the teapot. Fragrant aromas filled the little kitchen, a blend of raspberry and green tea swirling through the air. “I was just looking for someone…but I doubt I’m going to find him,” she replied, a slight bit of sorrow flickering across her eyes.

For a moment, Witch almost felt sorry for her daughter’s plight. 

Almost.

As quickly as the bought of sorrow came, it was replaced with her normal calm and bright smile. She walked the tray of cups and tea over to the table, handing each person one and pouring a long draught. “Well, anyways, thank you for the tarts,” she replied, quickly counting them out. “Oh, you brought enough for the kids too.”

“Of course I did,” Witch said with a smile, pushing the loaves of bread over as well. “Scotty thought you might need this too.”

“She definitely does, the pantry is a bit more scarce than I’d like,” Huntress said, taking a large bite from her tart. “Are you sure you’re making enough to get by? Because my niece is not going hungry.”

“We’re actually doing just fine,” she replied, slowly sipping her tea. “The soaps and herbal remedies have been selling well, and Aunt Trisha’s books have…helped with the mortgage payments.” Her face flushed a deep shade of red at that statement as she once again looked to Young Priest. “That would be Priestess. Her books are…well…”

“I’ve…’test read’ a few of those, for better or for worse,” Young Priest replied, his own face flushing a shade of crimson in mutual understanding. “They’re very…provocative?”

“Oh just say she writes trashy smut,” Huntress said with a chuckle, taking another bite of pastry.

“And…I actually got a job at the radio station just a few days ago,” Gale continued, her face brightening with pride instead of embarrassment. “I work in the evenings reading bedtime stories to children and playing music. Melissa looks after the kids, and I get a little extra something while helping them get to sleep. I’m actually really enjoying it.”

Witch smiled widely, giving her daughter a pat on the shoulder. “That’s wonderful to hear, sweetie.”

“Indeed, that’s quite an accomplishment,” Young Priest said with a smile. For the first time since Witch had met him, he seemed to be almost relaxed. “Your mother mentioned you had kids. Am I allowed to know their names or is that too…risky?”

“Well, they’re not exactly a secret,” Gale said with a laugh, pointing to a picture on the wall. It showed her and two children in their Sunday best, one boy and one girl. “Those are my children, Taylor and Marshall. They’re both bright, full of energy, incredible helpers around the house, and so far, not inheriting any of my magical ability.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

She took a sip of her tea, thinking on this for a moment. “I’m not sure yet, to be honest. I’d love to teach them what I know, but things like that can be rather dangerous. Exciting, interesting, and incredible to experience, sure, but dangerous.”

“I personally think it’s a good thing,” Witch said, taking a long draught of tea. “The more normal a life they can have, the better. It’s what I wanted for you, you know, but…well, that didn’t end up happening.”

Inwardly, she sighed. Her wish had been for Gale to have as normal of a life as she wanted. As it turned out, her daughter had no problem with a life of small magics, powerful ‘relatives’, and a mother who killed people as part of her job. Despite her best efforts to shield Gale from the worst of it, she still was able to pick up on the less than savory aspects of her ‘family’s’ work, and instead of despising them, she supported them by staying out of their way.

Some days, she wondered if she really raised Gale right. A ‘normal’ person would shun the Followers with the drop of a hat, abandon them for a life of actually living out their life as a good and moral person. Then again, her life began with a deal of a dark god. There was only so much normal that could come out of that. 

And Gale was good. 

That much couldn’t be disputed.

“I say forget the magic and teach them how to properly fight, that’ll do those little monsters some good,” Huntress said, tipping the rest of the tea into his mouth. “Then again, you should absolutely never trust me with kids. That’s a terrible idea.”

“Didn’t mom trust you with me?”

“Yes, and look where you are now,” Huntress said with a snort and a smirk.

“Well, I’m sure that whatever you end up teaching your children, they’ll probably appreciate it,” Young Priest said with a nod. Though he seemed to be in something akin to his comfort zone for once, it was obvious the gears were turning in his head. “If you don’t mind me asking, Gale, I was…under the assumption that you were married, especially in this time period.”

The second the words left his lips, time might as well have stopped cold. Gale froze, hands clutched around her tea cup and still as stone. She did not move or breathe, the light in her eyes rapidly fading as she sat in her little chair. Her gaze was locked onto the rapidly cooling tea. When she finally broke the silence, each word was no louder than a whisper. “I’d…rather not talk about it.”

“I’m…sorry I brought it up,” he replied, clearing his throat ever so slightly. “You said that you sold soap, yes? Do you mind talking a bit more about that?”

That seemed to shock Gale back to life, and the conversation turned to happier topics. For what could have been anywhere from minutes to hours, she talked about her little home run business, occasionally pouring more cups of tea and showing off some of the samples she made. At some point, Huntress had finished her meal and taken off. Already restless from the city, she left with a proclamation of needing to be somewhere more natural and promised to visit soon with fresh game. Not long after, bells began to ring, signifying noon and the oncoming lunch rush. 

Heaving a large sigh, Gale began gathering the dirtied plates and cups into the sink. “As much as I hate to send you away, I should probably start working before the kids come home for the day,” she said, looking a bit forlornly at her work table. “You’re always welcome to visit, though.”

“Of course, sweetie,” Witch said with a smile, standing up and planting a small kiss on Gale’s forehead. Her hair smelled of lavender and honey, sweet and mild in their aroma. Not so little anymore, but always her little girl. Her little light in the darkness that made everything worth it. “If you need anything, you know what to do.”

“I do, mom,” she said with an equally sweet smile, touching the area just above her collarbone. “Stay safe, alright?”

“I’ll do what I can,” Witch said, giving her a long and loving hug.

After just the right amount of time, Gale broke the embrace and walked over to one of her shelves. Twiddling her fingers as if counting, she selected two bars of soap and pressed them into their palms. “Here, it’s lemon zest and lavender. Perfect for body washes…if you guys still need that sort of thing.”

“It’s rather rude to refuse a gift, especially a homemade one,” Young Priest replied with a slight smile. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re very sweet, Gale,” Witch replied, tucking the soap into a small side pouch. Taking the bag off of her shoulder, she handed it off to Gale. “And before I forget, here’s some things that Bookkeeper thought you’d like. She wanted to come, but, well, you know how busy she is these days.”

With an excited laugh, Gale snatched up the bag and hugged it to her chest, eyes almost beaming with delight. “Give Aunt Nova my thanks. She always knows exactly what to send.”

“No problem, sweetie.”

“Thank you both for coming,” Gale said as she opened the front door, her smile soft and caring. “It was wonderful to meet you, Marcus. I hope you come and visit more. The time you come from sounds absolutely fascinating.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Gale,” he replied, his expression revealing that he still wasn’t yet used to that name. “Have a good day.”

The three of them said their goodbyes, ones that took just a touch longer than they should, and Witch and Young Priest began the trek back to one of the many entrances to Witch’s apothecary. They had gone hardly a full city block when Young Priest glanced to Witch, his eyes filled to the brim with a deep seeded suspicion.

“Your daughter…you said that all of the other Followers gave her the nickname of ‘Gale’.”

“That’s right,” Witch said with a nod of her head.

“Is…that by chance short for…Abigail?”

Witch let out a long breath, glancing up at him with narrowed eyes. “You catch on quick.” 

She could almost see the moment it all clicked. The words came out in stuttered breaths, each one more confused and more terrified than the last. “Is she’s…are you…does he…oh dear gods, he doesn’t know.”

Witch let out a long sigh, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her wallet. With delicate fingers, she removed a small photo. Standing there was a younger Gale on her wedding day, arm in arm with a familiar hot headed man that would one day become a pilot…and their worst enemy.

“No, he doesn’t. And for all our sakes, I hope he never finds out.”


End file.
